#With the mustache man on the carpet of his van

[mrtequilasunset]

He's a king dust demon with an ice pick smile

#disco elysium #harry du bois #disco elysium art #for those of you who don't want to click the link the song is Mustache Man (wasted) by Cake #you shoudl totally click the link though because the song is good asf #other harrycore lines include #His music fills your feathers as you feel your passions fly #With the mustache man on the carpet of his van #You can feel your fatty tissues giving way to sweaty hands #Anyways lighting/coloring isn't really my forte so I'm trying something out bc ive had this song in mind for him for months #my art

[shieldmaidenofgod]

Writing Our History––Part 1

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch van der Linde called as he spotted the outlaw ride back into camp. “Where have you been?”

“In town,” Arthur replied. “Had to grab some things. Why? Did something happen?” The light from the setting sun illuminated the worry in the cowboy’s eyes.

Dutch chuckled and a glint of mischief twinkled in his eyes. “You could say that. Hitch up your horse and follow me.”

Arthur ended up sitting by the campfire with a bowl of Pearson’s stew. The other men surrounding the fire leaned forward as they listened intently to Dutch’s news.

“So,” he began, “I got tipped off at the saloon today by the barman. Said there’s an enormous mansion right in the middle of a huge plot of land ‘bout ten miles north of here.”

“So we’re just robbin’ some rich bastard?” Sean asked, taking a sip from his beer bottle.

“Not if you let me finish, MacGuire,” Dutch scolded, and the Irishman raised his hands defensively, causing the other men to laugh.

“I also found out that the man of that house, Hawthorn, owns a rather successful tailoring company. He has a location right in the middle of Valentine, so I headed over there to see if I could find out anything else, and I heard he has but one daughter.” Dutch stopped there and spread his hands, as if the conclusion were obvious.

There was a pause while the men tried to figure out what Dutch’s plan was.

Arthur swallowed a bite of stew before asking, “So what, we kidnap ‘er?”

“You always were the smart one,” Dutch commented. “I managed to get a tipoff from one of his servants, if you can believe it. French girl. Poor young lady was barely holdin’ it together, you could tell she’d been cryin’ for a good long while. Apparently, he’s gonna marry his girl off to one of his business partners in a few days.”

“A good reason to demand a bigger ransom,” Charles spoke up.

“Exactly,” Dutch declared, pointing to Charles. “And think of this, if a mere servant has that much of an attachment to her mistress, who’s to say her parents don’t adore her even more? So, who’s with me? I’ll need a handful of men to get this done right.”

All the other men around the campfire looked to Arthur, as if for his permission.

Arthur shrugged. “When you wantin’ to leave?” he asked Dutch.

“Tomorrow morning. Early. Least we can do is scope out the house from afar.”

Arthur nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Dutch grinned. “It’s settled, then. Are you all with me?” he asked the others, who all nodded (except for Sean, who gave a hearty cheer). “Good, very good. Well, we all better get some rest then, if we want to head out by dawn tomorrow.”

The next day, Dutch, Arthur, Charles, and Sean rode out of camp at the break of dawn for the northern end of Valentine and eventually arrived on the border of Mr. Hawthorn’s land by 7:30. They all managed to stay low while observing the house and its surroundings through their binoculars.

“See anything interesting?” Sean asked Arthur, who was using the pair of binoculars the two of them were sharing.

“Not much,” Arthur grunted, handing the binoculars over to Sean beside him. “Lot of windows, though. We’ll have to steer clear of those.”

“I see a carriage. They just pulled it up to the house,” Charles announced from his position, also looking through a pair of binoculars.

“Anyone gettin’ in or out?” Arthur asked, Sean still looking through his binoculars.

“Not yet.” Charles paused for a moment. “Wait. The front doors are opening. It looks like Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn––I’m guessing it’s them, at least. Ah, that’s definitely their daughter.” He lowered his binoculars. “When do we move, Dutch?”

“Not yet,” their leader answered. “We wait until they’re far enough away from their property and not too close to town. Then we strike.”

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

Once the Hawthorns were seated in the carriage and their luggage strapped to the roof, the carriage was off to the nearest town: Saint Denis.

Mrs. Hawthorn looked down her nose at her daughter, who sat across from her and her husband and was engaged in reading her collection of E. B. B. poetry. “Put that accursed book away,” Mrs. Hawthorn snapped.

(Y/N) jerked in surprise at the sudden break in silence. She looked back down in dismay at the loss of her only entertainment, closed the book, and put it in her carpet bag beside her.

“Honestly––” her mother continued, “––it’s positively shameful, being a female author. As if any decent man would wish to marry one. It’s not a woman’s place.”

“No,” (Y/N) countered in a biting tone, a smug smirk on her pretty face. “But it must be a woman’s place to be married against her will to a man she’s never met.”

“You will marry whoever we choose for you and that is final!” Mrs. Hawthorn slammed her fan against her lap in emphasis.

(Y/N) slumped in her seat and crossed her arms, a difficult and uncomfortable position considering her garments and tightly-strung corset, but the action was worth the horrified looks on her parents’ faces.

“This is so unfair! Maybe I do wish to become an unmarried author! Why should you be the ones to stop me?”

“Stop that ugly slouching and sit up this instant!” her father exclaimed.

“Oh, I’ll slouch if I bloody want to!” (Y/N) shouted back.

“Now you listen here, young lady!” Mr. Hawthorn roared and pointed a shaking finger in (Y/N)’s direction. “We know far better what is best for you than you do. I’ll not have you vilifying our family name by running off and becoming some undignified, unmarried hooligan!” he spat, his eyes glinting with rage. His fat mustache continued to wag as he yammered on about what a disgrace she would be to the family name if she did not marry his business partner, but (Y/N) had stopped listening.

Everything about the whole situation was so unbelievably unfair. (Y/N)’s parents had always been rather controlling of her, but never to an extent as drastic as this. Or, perhaps, she had just never noticed how little control over her own life she had ever actually had.

What I wouldn’t give to just run away from all of this, (Y/N) thought to herself, completely unaware of how soon her wish would come true.

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

“Okay, move out! Come on! Go, go, go!” Dutch yelled, riding forward in a full gallop behind the carriage.

Charles, Arthur, and Sean, led by Dutch sped after the carriage, bandanas covering their lower faces to protect them from the kicked-up dust and from being recognized. Once they got closer to the carriage, Arthur whipped out a pistol and fired a warning shot at the carriage. The bullet zipped through the very top of the carriage wall right below the covered roof, signaling to those inside that they had company.

Terrified screams erupted from inside the carriage and the four horses pulling the car whinnied in fright. The driver desperately pulled on the reins, attempting to stop the beasts so that no more threatening shots would be fired in less-than-cosmetic directions. Once the carriage came to a stop, the driver threw his hands in the air.

“Pl-please don’t hurt me, sirs!” the driver exclaimed.

“Oh, we ain’t here for you, boy!” Dutch shouted as the other outlaws threw open the carriage doors.

Arthur and Charles reached into the carriage and pulled out a thrashing (Y/N). She clutched her carpet bag to her chest and screamed frantically but the men paid her no mind, throwing her in the front of Sean’s saddle.

“Take her home, boys!” Dutch shouted and he, Charles, Arthur, and Sean spurred their horses into a gallop back the way they’d come.

“Let me go!” (Y/N) screeched. “Let me go, you brutes!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, lassie,” Sean answered behind her. “We’re gonna be hangin’ onto you for now.”

Once the party arrived at camp, (Y/N) had calmed down, becoming rather apathetic. Sean lowered her off his horse and into the waiting arms of Miss Grimshaw.

“We don’t want to hurt you, miss,” Dutch called to (Y/N) in a slightly smug tone. “We just want some compensation from your family, that's all!”

“Come on now, dear,” Miss Grimshaw said gently. “Let’s get that dust out of your dress and a tent set up for you.” She led (Y/N), who only nodded, away from the horses.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #female reader #rdr2 fanfiction #fanfiction #writing our history

[toomanyfandoms02]

The Screw // Matthew Gray Gubler x Reader

This wasn't a request BUT I loved it. It's based off of the gif below.

Summary - Matthew gives the screw from his knee to a special girl.

Word Count - 1.5k

Y/n had been in a loving relationship with Matthew for quite some time, 3 years, 9 months and 16 days to be exact. She was 100% sure that he was the man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The biggest thing in their relationship was Halloween, of course.

She had weathered more than 3 Halloweens with the man. Before they were together, they bought eachothers costumes. She got him a sexy nurse costume, and Matthew was not one to back down from a dare. So he wore it to the Halloween party and proudly told everyone that she had gotten it for him.

He had been nice and bought her a cloak from Harry Potter, it was even a cloak from your Hogwarts House. She was so grateful, and felt just a little *guilty*. A few months later they were together, just as everyone suspected they would be.

Their next Halloween they went with a little classic, PB&J. They stayed by eachothers sides the entire night to keep the costume true to itself. *Totally not because they couldn't get enough of eachother.*

The next year they were Scooby Doo characters. But they weren't what you would have expected. Not Fred and Daphne, no no.

They were Shaggy and Scooby.

Matthew had happily bounced around they party in his big Scooby costume, shouting every once in a while "Scooby Dooby Do!" To anyone who asked who he was. Y/n ventured around the house in a short dirty blonde wig, a Tie-Dye shirt, cargo shorts, and a comically large bong. Everyone quite enjoyed their weird sense of humor and obvious disregard for what people thought.

Last year they went as something only they would understand.

Matthew went as Edgar Allen Poe. He wore a white collared button up with a black scarf. Paired with black pants and a black suit jacket over it all. Y/n had used temporary hair dye to color his hair black, and they purchased a fake mustache to pull it all together. He then wanted her to go as Annabelle Lee.

*"You know that there is no description of Anabelle in his writing, right?" She argued.*

*"Yes, but he loved her so much. He loved her as she was and it was so strong that you don't even need to know how she looked." He brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "Just go in something flowy maybe, but go as you are. That's how I love you, that's why I love you." He said the words so nonchalantly, but they struck her in the heart like the sharpest of cupids arrows.*

*"Where do you come up with this beautifully poetic stuff?" She giggled, feeling more giddy and drunk in love than she had in quite a while.*

*"I'm Edgar Allen Poe, duh."*

So they went like that. They had to explain to so many people how their costume worked, and all of them found it *disgustingly* beautiful. It seemed that they were straight out of a book how perfect they were.

But this year they went back to their usual shenanigans. Matthew wanted to be something cheesy this year. He let her come up with 10 cheesy costumes, and he would make the final decision. She had been so excited about all of the costumes. After creating a list over the course of 2 days, she happily brought it to their living room and set the list on front of him.

1. Fred and Wilma Flintstone

2. Jim and Pam from The Office

3. Olive Oyl and Popeye

4. Oreo cookies

5. Sailor and Mermaid

6. Zombie Bride and Groom

7. Cookie and Milk

8. Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin

9. Magician and Rabbit

10. Barbie and Ken

He took one look at the list and knew exactly which one he wanted.

"I think we should do Zombie Bride and Groom." His answer came so quickly that it startled y/n a bit. But a smile was quickly plastered onto her face.

"Perfect! We can go get the costumes tomorrow and work on them." She picked up the list and circled the decision in red pen, a child like excitement shone in her eyes.

-

The latest Halloween party had come quicker than expected, and the couple was grateful for it. Matthew had been both extremely excited and nervous for this night. Y/n had practically been bouncing off the walls since they woke up that morning.

She woke up early to make Matthew breakfast in bed. She had looked up a tutorial online to make skull pancakes with yolks in the eyes. After she finished them they looked pretty pitiful, but Matthew looked at them like it was a painting by Vincent Van Gogh.

"Did you make these?" He sat up in the bed groggily, smelling syrup and warm pancakes.

"Yeah, they don't look that great." A nervous giggle erupted from her throat.

"I love them!" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug on the bed. "Happy Halloween baby."

When 7 o'clock finally rolled around, y/n was standing in the bathroom, facing her full size mirror. She smoothed her hands down the white dress. It was only a 30 dollar dress, but she felt a little bad still that they tore it up for the sake of the costume. It was torn in multiple places, along with blood splatters here and there. Matthew had bloodied up his hand and put a few hand prints on it. Regardless, she thought it was cozy and warm to be in a wedding dress, even for Halloween. Blood was painted around her mouth and black eyeshadow around her eyes to make then seem sunken in. She had done something similar for her boyfriend. After admiring the wonderful Halloween work, she headed out to the living room.

Matthew had sat there on the couch the whole time she was in the bathroom. He was fiddling with a small box that he intended on using tonight. His foot tapped almost silently on the carpeted floor. The box was skillfully slipped into his back pocket as he heard the door to the bathroom click open.

"Ready?" She nodded her head violently as she grabbed his hand and lead him through the door.

-

The party was like any other. It was being held at AJ Cooks house as a final official get together for the cast and friends. Everyone whooped as y/n and Matthew entered her house.

"Going with another cool couples costume this year I see." AJ wore and FBI vest from the set. Y/n pulled at the strap of it a bit.

"I see *someone* stole a prop from set." She shrugged with a smile.

"Come on, it's my favorite thing to wear, and what better time to wear it." She giggled.

"I love it!"

"Well, enjoy the party you two." She gestured between us.

"We always do." Then they were off into the party.

They had each drank copious amounts of punch that had a floating head in it and eaten many 'bloody' pigs in a blanket, Matthew was running out of time, he thought. He brought her out to the backyard where there was a minimal amount of people.

"Aren't the stars pretty tonight?" She pointed to the sky as she leaned on his chest. He stared down at her messy figure, covered in blood but still looking more perfect to him than ever.

"Yes they are." She peered up to see him staring.

"You're so cheesy." Seeing her smile like that, he decided this was the right time. He unraveled her from his arms, pointing behind them.

"Hey, I think someone is calling for you over there." She whipped her head around to see that no one was standing there.

"Are you delusional?" She questioned with a chuckle. He was already down on one knee with the box. Once she span around her eyes immediately turned to the ground, happy tears already brimming. She looked closer at the object he was holding and let out a quiet sob.

"Is that," she sniffled, "Is that the screw from your knee." She laughed a bit into the statement, leaning down to examine it.

"Maybe?" His head tilted with the biggest smile she had ever seen on the man.

"Oh my gosh I love it so much." She grabbed it from his hands and pulled him to his feet. The small screw sat in the palm of her hand, rolling around a bit.

"I said I was going to give it to a special girl some day." Her face lit up at the statement. "I totally forgot to ask if you would marry me." He remarked with a dumbfounded look.

"Is that even a question?" She squealed, placing her arms around his neck. He pulled a second box from his pocket that held a ring and slipped it on her finger. They both stood and hugged for a while, just reveling in eachother presences.

"I hope you know I'm bringing this screw to the wedding, I'm gonna wear it as a necklace." She whispered excitedly.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He placed a loving kiss on *his* y/n's head.

The feeling was mutual that they couldn't *wait* to spend the rest of their lives with eachother.

#mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #MGG #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthewgraygubler #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #mgg fic

[fidothefinch]

he will tear you with his tongue

For Dick & Dami Week 2021, day 1: "Did you really mean that?"

Dick didn’t think. The goon was adjusting his grip on Damian’s knife, aiming the blade down his neck. The man wanted revenge, and on such short notice Dick only saw one option.

Pretend he didn’t care.

(Full fic under the cut, or read on Ao3)

Dick tapped the glass of his window casually, watching the familiar buildings of Gotham speed past his view.

“TT.”

Dick angled his body toward Damian. The kid was staring resolutely at the back of the seat in front of him, obviously still pouting over losing this particular argument before they had left the penthouse. “It’s just a few hours.”

“Hours I could have spent training. Or studying. Or watching paint dry.”

Dick fought back the quirk of his lips, knowing it would only send Damian into a darker mood. “Was that a joke?”

“I assure you, it was not.” Damian glowered.

“Think of it as training,” Dick offered. “Undercover work. We have to keep up appearances, so people don’t suspect us.”

“TT.” Damian shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His hands fisted the material of the opposite sleeves.

“Be careful not to crease your suit, Master Damian,” Alfred piped in from the front, the first words he had spoken since they had embarked on their journey into the city. “I will not have time to correct it before they begin filming.”

Damian released his sleeves like he had burned them, his fingers almost imperceptibly smoothing out the small wrinkles that had formed. He still sat with his back ramrod straight, but that was nothing uncommon for the uptight kid.

Still.

“Is there something you’re worried about?” Dick asked. “It should be perfectly safe—”

“I am not worried,” Damian growled. “I am annoyed that I am being forced to waste my time being interviewed on daytime television.”

“The morning news isn’t—”

“And I am not looking forward to putting on an act of stupidity like the rest of you.”

Okay, so that stung a little. Dick bit his tongue to control his instinctual comeback. Instead he analyzed what lay underneath the statement. “So you’re afraid you’ll look stupid.”

“It would be impossible not to, with you.”

Alfred let a sharp “Master Damian,” ring across the car, and to the butler’s credit, Damian’s face twitched.

“You cannot deny it,” Damian pressed. “I am doomed to adopt the act that my predecessors have started, and I must accept the fact I will be nakedly mocked on live television and in the drivel that they call news for the rest of the year.”

“Hey,” Dick said, trying to get his attention. When Damian looked up, there was a flicker of emotion behind his eyes before he blocked it off again. They were still working on that. “Who cares what the gossip says? The people that matter know who you really are.”

For a second, Dick thought the words may sink in, that Damian would answer like a normal human with empathy. “Is that what father told you before he kicked you out?”

“Damian—”

“Master Richard.”

Something in the butler’s voice immediately caught both of their attention.

“What’s wrong?” Dick asked, leaning forward to look over the dashboard. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the vehicle.

“It appears that we are being followed.”

Even as Alfred said it, Dick’s eyes caught on a set of headlights in the rearview mirror, tailing a little too closely to be comfortable. A matching black van followed them on their left, and when Dick looked forward, there was another one—no license plate— several cars ahead and to their right. “More like we’re being herded,” he muttered.

“I told you we should have brought our weapons,” Damian said. “I could kill the driver behind us within—”

“We’re not killing anybody.” The phrase had grown so familiar he didn’t even blink at it. “I’ll go ahead and call the police. Alfred, try to stay on the busier streets. They won’t try anything where there are so many witnesses.” At least, he hoped they wouldn’t. It really depended on who was in the vans.

Alfred nodded, changed his turn signal, and merged seamlessly into the middle lane.

The van behind them nosed in immediately after, cutting off the driver who had let them over.

Dick dug through his pockets until he found his phone and got to work dialing the police. But the device flew from his hands when, a moment later, the car lurched.

“They hit us,” Alfred explained. “I do not believe they are trying to be subtle, anymore.”

Clearly, whoever it was, they weren’t afraid of making a scene. Time to change tactics. “Think you can shake them?”

“I will try. Please buckle your seatbelt.”

Dick nodded, ducking to retrieve his phone before scrambling back into his seat. The screen was cracked from the force with which he had dropped it.

“Master Damian, you must wear your seatbelt, too.”

Dick shifted his attention away from his broken (non-functioning) phone to see Damian, kneeling backwards on the bench to glare out the rear windshield. “Damian, sit down.”

“I am sitting,” the kid replied, his eyes never leaving the van behind them. “The man has a prison tattoo on his left bicep and a shamrock tattoo on his neck. Are you familiar with him?”

“Turn around and put your ass. . . actually.” Dick twisted in his seat to get a look. (And released his seatbelt so he could look more clearly.) “Yeah, that’s Korban Branthwaite. He was part of a crew responsible for a string of bank robberies a while ago. He just got out on parole last month.”

“I could easily leap from our vehicle to his and demand an explanation.”

“You’re not doing that. I’m not letting you do that. Seriously, Damian. Put your seatbelt on before—” Dick’s next words were cut off by Alfred’s shout. He had just enough time to grab Damian before the van barreling toward them slammed into the side of their car.

Dick pulled Damian in close to his body, twisting around the smaller boy to protect him from the worse of the impact as the world around them erupted into chaos. The windows shattered inward, the door crumpling in like a crushed tin can. Their vehicle screeched and whined, snapping side to side hard enough to give Dick whiplash as the wheels fought to regain traction. The view outside spun across the windows, road-cars-trees-dirt blurring into an incomprehensible mess.

Dick shut his eyes and held on tighter, his stomach swooping like it did on the trapeze.

After what felt like an eternity, the motion stopped.

He waited until he was sure, until the rocking of the car stilled and the only noise was of the traffic passing outside. Only then did Dick loosen his fingers, let his eyes stray down to the quiet face tucked under his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, the slight waver inn his voice giving away his worry.

“Tt.” Damian pushed against Dick’s chest, propelling himself backward. “I am fine.”

Uh-huh.

Dick looked him over and was relieved to find nothing worse than a few scratches and bruises from the broken glass. Damian had already shifted his attention outside, where the van that had hit them rested several yards away. He smacked Dick’s hand away when he tried to brush broken glass out of his hair. “I do not believe they were trying to kill us.”

Dick pressed his lips together. “No.” Then, panic hit him with more clarity. “Alfred!”

“I am alright, Master Richard.”

Dick pushed to the front seat, knowing that he lived with a family of liars who would prefer to bleed out than admit they had an injury. Alfred was pinned back by his seatbelt, and a quick scan revealed a bleeding nose and broken arm. “We’ll get Leslie to set that,” Dick promised him.

“They’re coming,” Damian said, voice serious.

“Who?”

“Your thieves.”

Dick stooped to look out the windshield, and, sure enough, another of the black vans had pulled up, blocking their view of the road beyond. Four men trotted down the small incline toward their car. “Shit.”

“You are sure we cannot kill them?”

Dick didn’t get the chance to respond. The men reached their car and forced the good doors open hard enough to shake it again.

“Get out,” one of the men barked. He was a big guy, with a handlebar mustache and a matching shamrock tattoo, but on his arm.

“No,” Damian sneered.

Two of the men flanking the big one pulled out guns. Dick reacted on instinct, backing up and spreading his arms to block their view of Damian. He couldn’t let the kid get shot.

“I won’t tell you again,” the man threatened.

“Look, I’ll come.” Dick held up his hands non-threateningly. “Leave the kid here. He doesn’t know anything.”

The man looked him up and down with a predatory gaze that made Dick shiver. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Grab him.”

The two men flanking him lowered their weapons in favor of reaching inside, grabbing each of Dick’s arms and hauling him out. When Dick’s feet found the grass, they wasted no time fastening zipties around his wrists and a blindfold over his eyes.

Dick breathed deeply to control his fear reaction as they shoved him blindly forward.

“Let go of me!”

“Damian?” Dick dug his heels in, stopping their progress. “You said—”

“Shut up before I decide to bring the old man, too.”

Dick pressed his tongue into the roof of his mouth as hard as he could. Alfred needed to be looked at by a medical professional; it would do him no good being dragged into this. But Damian was untested, as far as civilian kidnappings went.

If this was a kidnapping.

They frog-marched Dick to what he assumed was the van before tossing him inside. He landed hard on his stomach, his face rubbing against rough, crusty carpet. The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and stale sweat assaulted his nose.

“Where are you taking us?” he asked.

A warm, bony body landed on top of his, letting out a muffled snarl of displeasure. So they had gagged Damian. That was probably a good thing.

“That’s none of your concern,” the lead man replied.

The van rocked as the rest of the men filed in. Doors rolled shut around them, the engine rumbled to life, and the car swayed as it pulled back up onto the road.

“Search his pockets.”

“Wait.” Before hands could begin roaming all over his body (a thought that made his skin crawl), Dick offered, “My wallet’s in the left breast pocket of my jacket.”

A big hand slipped into his jacket and retrieved it easily.

“Phone?”

Dick internally cringed, already knowing where this was going. “I don’t have it.”

“Search him.”

Dick couldn’t see the touches coming; he couldn’t help but flinch away from each brush of contact. “I don’t have it. I lost it in the wreck.”

There was a muffled growl from next to him. God, they were searching Damian, too.

“Found one on the kid.”

“Give it to me,” the leader commanded. A moment later, “Give me his thumb. I need access.”

The smaller body next to Dick suddenly jolted away. The movement was accompanied by deep gasps and shuffling feet.

“Fuck. The kid has a knife!”

If it were any other situation, Dick would roll his eyes. As it was, he silently thanked the heavens that Damian had managed not to lethally stab anybody yet. He reached around blindly, trying to find him.

“Well, take it away from him!”

“You do it!”

A growl. “Pathetic. You’re scared of a little boy.”

A muffled yelp.

“No! Wait!” Unable to find his brother, Dick scooted toward the sound of something dragging across the carpet. “Stop!”

He finally reached Damian’s side, only for a white-hot slash of pain to slice down his arm. He couldn’t help his grunt in reaction.

The sound of the knife falling to the floor was muffled by the carpet, but unmistakable. Dick couldn’t see, but he was positive that it was immediately retrieved by one of the goons.

Sure enough, the leader laughed, somewhere above Dick’s head. “Did daddy teach the little brat some self-defense?”

“Leave him alone,” Dick growled. He found Damian’s shirt and clung to it.

“Oh?” Hot breath fanned across Dick’s face, much too close to be comfortable. “Feeling a little. . .  protective?”

Dick’s heart jumped in his chest.

Something in his face must have showed it, because the goons around him laughed. “We must have gotten the right one, then. Norman will be pleased.”

“Who’s that?” Dick asked. “Listen, I can get you money—”

“That’s not why we’re here,” the leader said.

“Then what do you want?”

The leader’s mouth curled into a cruel grin. “You’ll see.”

A rag was closed over his lower face, the sharp stench of chloroform following. Dick thrashed his head, but between the blindfold and his bound hands he had no (reasonable) defense.

Between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.

-

“Take off his blindfold.”

Dick blinked, more for the release of pressure on his eyes than for the light, which was dim inside the small, windowless room. He was still groggy, his head pounded from the last dredges of chloroform, and his shoulders already ached from behind tied around the back of his chair, but his attention was immediately caught by his surroundings.

Four men stared down at him threateningly. One of them had his arms wrapped around Damian, who was also tied to a chair, still blindfolded and gagged.

More threatening was the knife poised over Damian’s face.

Dick’s heart hammered at the sight. “I won’t fight you. You don’t have to hurt him.”

“Ah, but we do,” called a new voice, from behind.

Dick tried to twist, but he had to wait until the man chose to step into his sightline. He had dark hair and a rat-like face: small eyes, yellow teeth, and a sparse moustache. The smirk he gave Dick held a mix of resentment and triumphant possessiveness.

“I’ve got money,” Dick tried, even remembering how the offer had gone last time. “I just need to make a phone call.”

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head. “That will not work. You see,” he offered, removing his tobacco-stained fingers from his pockets. “This has been a long-time coming. I could get money, but you’re rich, so what would that really teach you?”

This was personal. This was bad.

The man took a step forward, leaning into Dick’s personal space. “I could get sex.” Dick flinched. “But I bet you would enjoy that.”

A sick feeling rose in Dick’s stomach at the insinuation.

“I want to give you a pain that will last,” the man finished, eyes trailing over to Damian.

The goon that was holding his brother down had moved his arm around Damian’s neck, forcing his chin up and back. It would take almost nothing to break his neck.

Dick forced himself to shove aside his panic and think. This was personal; the man wanted to cause pain. He needed to keep the man’s attention off Damian until help could arrive. “Who are you?” Dick asked.

The rat-faced man turned to him with bared teeth. “My name is Norman Darth, and you’re the reason my wife left me.”

Dick blinked a few times, stalling while he racked his brain for why the name was familiar. Norman’s face grew darker as he waited for some kind of reaction. It was that look that reminded Dick where he had seen him before: caught for embezzling charity money, back during Dick’s BPD days.

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” he said, trying to sound sincere but firm. “You don’t have to do this.”

Norman sneered. “You don’t get it! I loved her!” He snapped his fingers, and the goons around him straightened their posture. “It’s your fault I lost the person I loved. Now it’s going to be my fault you lose yours.”

Dick didn’t think. The goon was adjusting his grip on Damian’s knife, aiming the blade down his neck. The man wanted revenge, and on such short notice Dick only saw one option.

Pretend he didn’t care.

“So, what? You’re going to threaten me with him?”

The goon frowned, and the knife pressed in, just enough to draw a drop of blood. “Don’t test me,” he warned.

“Shut up,” Norman barked. “Just kill him. Make it slow.”

Dick laughed. Damian startled at the sound, and it made it nearly impossible for Dick to keep the tremble out of his own voice. “Go ahead, do your worst. See if I care.”

The goon’s hand hesitated, not pushing any deeper into Damian’s neck. After a moment, Norman held up a hand to call him off. “You’re bluffing,” he said, almost phrasing it like a question.

Bingo.

Dick scoffed. “That would be stupid.”

“He cared about him in the van,” the big man, the one Dick had thought had been the leader, said. “Got real protective.”

Norman pursed his lips, considering Dick coldly. “Cut him,” he said, instead. “Nowhere lethal, yet.”

The man holding Damian dropped the blade to Damian’s bound arm and pierced Damian’s jacket and shirt. Norman didn’t even look back, instead raising an eyebrow at Dick’s non-reaction to the knife running down Damian’s arm like it were warm butter. Not too deep, but deep enough it definitely hurt. Maybe even deep enough to scar.

Damian managed not to make a sound, a fact that didn’t comfort Dick. What he could see of the kid’s face and body was clenched tight, trying to stay still so as not to disturb the weapon trailing along his body.

“Threatening him won’t get you what you want,” Dick promised. He didn’t know how he kept his tone so even. “He’s not worth that much.”

The man suddenly twisted the blade, opening the wound in Damian’s upper arm further. Damian yelped this time, the sound muffled by the duct tape over his mouth.

Dick managed not to flinch.

“Damn, you really don’t care about him, do you?” One of the other goons in the room asked. “Is that what money does to you?”

“He’s not my kid,” Dick said, shrugging. The words already tasted bitter in his mouth. “I’m just stuck with him.”

Damian sucked in a sharp breath. It had nothing to do with the man removing the knife and everything to do with Dick’s words.

Dick had to look away. “I only watch him because Bruce asked me to.”

A pregnant pause followed the words.

“I don’t believe you,” Norman said. He was not convincing.

Dick made eye contact, pointedly ignoring the small hands, clenched into tight fists across from him. “If I knew where his mom was,” he said, feeling his chest tighten at the words, “I’d send him back.”

Norman studied his face, his expression a deep frown of disgust. “You’re a terrible father,” he spat.

“I’m not—” Dick started, ready to continue the ruse for as long as it took to keep the attention off Damian. But he was cut off when the wall next to them fell away, nearly crushing two of the goons underneath.

Spoiler stepped through the door. “Sorry we’re late. Traffic was terrible.”

Black Bat followed her into the room, her silence speaking for itself.

-

Damian was suspiciously quiet for the entire ride back to the Cave. Dick tried to get him to let him take a look at his arm, which was still bleeding under the field dressings that Cass had applied, but Damian had brushed away his attempts with a curt “Pennyworth will take care of it.”

Okay, so the kid was being a little more moody than usual. Understandable, since he had spent the last several hours immobile, blind, and silenced. Dick didn’t push it.

But when the behavior continued into the next day, and then the day following that, he grew worried. Damian was avoiding him, for some reason. He spent his time tucked away in his own room, and he didn’t engage in conversation over dinner. Damian had always been. . . prickly, but Dick had thought they were making progress. This was something new.

They needed to talk.

Dick finally got his chance when he found Damian on the manor’s lawns, walking Titus. Dick fell into step eagerly. “Hey, Damian.”

“Tt.” Damian didn’t even look over at him. He didn’t actively try to get away, though, either, and Dick took that as an invitation.

“Nice weather, huh?”

“It is raining.”

“I know.” Dick brushed his wet hair back. “It’s nice.”

“Tt.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, and it drove Dick crazy that he couldn’t read whether it was companionable or awkward. When Titus found a spot to squat, Dick seized the opportunity. “I think we need to talk.”

“Were we not talking earlier?”

“No, something’s up.” Dick studied Damian’s impassive face. “Is something bothering you?”

“No,” was Damian’s immediate reply. But Dick had learned Damian’s tells, and he caught the way the boy’s hands flexed.

“Are you sure?” Dick prompted, gently. “You can tell me if something’s wrong. I won’t be mad.”

Damian stared at the ground, letting the hood of his rain jacket obscure his expression for him. “You do not have to pretend with me, any longer,” he declared.

Dick bit his tongue, tasting the words. “Pretend?”

“I am here only for training,” Damian continued. “You are not obligated to be involved in my life otherwise.”

“Obligated?” Dick asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Damian finally looked up at him, and he wore a stony expression. “You confessed your feelings towards me to Darth,” he said. “Did you really mean that?”

All of the blood fell out of Dick’s face. He felt nauseous again, like he had been freshly chloroformed. “No.”

Damian looked away again, his shoulders tight. “Okay.”

“No, Damian.” Dick grabbed his shoulders to spin him around. “I know we don’t always get along, but I care about you.”

To his surprise, Damian’s eyes were shining. “You would not send me back to mother, if you had the chance?”

Dick pulled Damian in for a hug, holding him tight and tucking head under his chin. “Never,” he said, squeezing harder in hopes it would press the words into Damian’s psyche. “You’re too important to me.”

Damian didn’t pull away.

In fact, Damian leaned into the hug, maybe for the first time ever.

“I love you,” Dick repeated.

“Tt.”

Dick smiled, understanding what went unsaid.

#dick&damiweek2021 #dick & damian #batfam #dick grayson #damian wayne #fido writes

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 4: Out of the Past

Heist

~

[birds twitter]

AMELIA SPENS: Okay team, let's go over this one more time. General Bakari has sent Abel a distress call from a remote Tunisian base, Red Scorpion, which is probably home to red fungus and definitely home to one Ernest Van Ark.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, despite the fact that you, you know, um, what was it? Oh yes, blew him up with a rocket launcher, Five! That's... [laughs] It's typical! My luck. We get Janine back safe, and oh, who pops up but the devil himself?

AMELIA SPENS: Bakari wants a team to sneak something out of Red Scorpion. Our hope is that it's a red fungus countermeasure. To get there, our team needs to infiltrate New Agadir, a city in the middle of the desert, while posing as Death's Hand, a mercenary group whose greatest hits include assassinating a blue chip CEO using a neurotoxin-tipped knitting needle and overthrowing at least three heads of state.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: This is all so exciting! Proper Mission Impossible stuff!

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, remind me why you brought the new person along. It's Frances, isn't it? From the Hebrides?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I wanted to try a run. Janine said I could come because it's a low-danger assignment, and because I promised to stop asking to be on the Tunisia team if she let me. I overheard Sam talking about the mission.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvellous. Janine should add “make Sam keep a secret” to her bucket list. [sighs] At least you're not pestering me to let you go. I've already had to veto Jody's involvement. I need her here working with me to train runners on McShell tower protocol.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I bet she was thrilled about that.

AMELIA SPENS: Anyway, our problem is getting a team to Tunisia. The information in Bakari's transmission enabled us to contact the Maghreb Protectorate, a government which operates in what used to be parts of Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Another government, that's incredible!

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, they're no use to us yet. They have no jurisdiction over New Agadir, and besides, our governments do not yet trust each other enough for them to provide assistance. Our team can't risk crossing Europe - too many unknowns - and our few ships are all either exploring or acting as repeater stations for overseas agents - too far out to be useful.

All we have left are small coastal merchants. I've found one scow captain willing to take people to Tunisia, but he's cautious. He wants the latest nautical charts. Pre-apocalypse, obviously. Not a lot of hydrographic surveys since Z-Day. You're approaching the London home of Horatio Brewer, famous British investor. Should have what we want.

PETER LYNNE: Are we sure about that, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Fairly. Mr. Brewer was a keen yachtsman. Old Ministry intel says he planned to escape Z-Day by sailing to a second home on the Tunisian coast. Had all the prep work done, then his neighborhood turned gray. We think zoms got him, but he was keeping his preparation safe in a basement vault.

PETER LYNNE: Great. So basically, we're looting a dead man's travel plans. Lovely. Um, see that street across the park, Five? That'll be his, so better hurry while it's still light out. Come on, everybody. Run!

~

[birds twitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wow, this is a classy street. Look at the mansions. That one's got ivory cherubs carved over the gates.

PETER LYNNE: Neighborhood's in pretty awful condition, though. You've got overgrown gardens, smashed windows. No sign of V-types though, thank God. Dearg made me a prototype one-man burn cube, Five, sewn right into my chest. Anti-P-type measure. Got the trigger, but not massively eager to try it.

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe not, but it's the only reason I'm letting you near Tunisia.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So Amelia, who exactly are these Death’s Hands people? Will they be tough to impersonate?

PETER LYNNE: Frances...

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, they're a nasty bunch. Former special ops, freelance since Z-Day. Bakari says they've been traveling the world as hired guns. Their rep gets them a lot of private security gigs. He's given us contact details for the real team, so we can lure them out of our operation’s way.

PETER LYNNE: Frankly, I don't think we should be trusting Bakari. This whole thing is probably a trap, which is why, Frances, Janine said that you can't – [zombies moan] Oh, God damn it!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, isn't that the place we want? Big Georgian house covered in ivy?

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia, there's a horde of zoms milling outside Brewer's house, so we can't make it to the entrance.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Well, we could gain entry by the house next door. Look at the big white mansion. Its roof's half collapsed, sloping into the road. We could clamber across it, jump to Brewer's roof, and get in through his attic window.

AMELIA SPENS: You know Peter, I'm warming to the new blood. Quickly then, off you go. I've got the scow captain waiting on tenterhooks. I need this deal closed ASAP. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we um, we got in through the attic window, followed a ladder leading deeper into the house. Now we've found a sort of private antique collection? So we're in a carpeted hall full of artifacts in glass cases.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: They've got plaques. That's a Roman bust, Celtic coins, an Egyptian amulet. That's a Carthaginian pot from Tunisia. Shouldn't these be in a museum?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah, well, Mr. Brewer was a rather avid black market trader, made a fortune trafficking plundered historical artifacts. Actually, it might make a good impression if our little expedition returns some stolen goods. Grab the Carthaginian pot, Peter.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, burglary with Amelia, just like old times. So let's see. It's a classic. We've got the pot on the pedestal, so if I just lift its case - [alarm blares] Ah. I honestly didn't think the alarm battery would have lasted this long. Um, Five, grab that pot, would you?

[zombies moan]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, guys, apparently there are zoms in the house too, coming up the stairs behind Five. Six big ones in dark suits.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that'll be Brewer's former home security. Alarm's got their attention. Hello! Still on the job, eh, boys?

AMELIA SPENS: Wish I could find staff that dedicated. No need to waste rounds, blueprint says there's a master bedroom down the corridor on your left. Brewer always left a spare key in the lock for his mistress. If you can lure the zombies in, you can trap them there. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Keep going, Five, there's the door past the amphora vases. God, how big is this house?

AMELIA SPENS: It was originally five smaller houses that were joined together behind a Georgian facade. Brewer felt he needed the space.

[door creaks open, floor creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're in the bedroom. There's a – ooh, four-poster bed, lovely. Uh, photos of Brewer and his family. Nice mustache. It's very Howard Hughesian. Um, Frances, you okay?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Zombies! I forgot how scary they are up close. Didn't have them on Dearg. I'm actually shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, uh, oh yeah, of course. No no no, um, it's okay, Frances. See, so the key was in the door and um, here's what we're gonna do. We're all going to get behind the bed. This room's really big, so when the zoms come at us, we'll then be able to circle around and lock them all in.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The house isn't in the best structural condition. There are big cracks in the walls, and that creaking probably means the floor is compromised. If any more bodies start stomping in here -

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: See, there are the zoms and they're... coming straight over the bed, so run for the - ! No, no, no! [shouts]

[floor collapses, glass shatters, PETER and FRANCES cough]

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, Five? What happened?

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The floor gave way under the bed! [coughs] The zoms were too much weight. It just smashed down through the house, took the zoms with it.

[house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: This house is definitely unstable. Yep, uh, sounds like the whole place is coming down.

AMELIA SPENS: If you follow the corridor outside the bedroom, you'll find stairs. Take them down to the basement. It's a reinforced garage, should remain intact if the house collapses. Plus, it's where that vault is. Hurry up, you don't have long to grab those charts, and they're absolutely vital.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, also um, there's a horde of zombies chasing us. Come on, run!

~

[zombies moan, house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Yep, there's the stairs, Five. Straight down, down you go.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The chandeliers overhead are really shaking. Five, look out!

[chandelier falls, glass shatters]

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] That was close! Chandelier smashed right through the stairs. Could have done without the glass shards in my face, to be perfectly honest. Um, edge around the hole it's left in the stairs. [house creaks, zombies moan] Oh, fantastic. Amelia, we just passed the ground floor and I can hear more zombies barging into the house. So that'll be the horde from outside, attracted to all the noise.

AMELIA SPENS: Just keep following the stairs down. There are exits in the basement, but you have to reach the vault first. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Yep, yep, yep. Five, close the door, close the door! [door slams shut] Oh, good. Amelia, we've made it. We're in the basement garage, and the stairwell’s collapsed behind us. Ooh, this is a huge concrete car park. There's tons of fancy cars. There's Bentleys, BMWs... a Model T? All right, just, could you give me a minute, Five? I've just got to pick some chandelier out of my face and eyes.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's amazing. Your wounds, the way they're healing. Enhanced cell regeneration? The scientists on Dearg talked about it. [gasps] This is what Van Ark did to you!

PETER LYNNE: Yes, it is. Not really looking forward to meeting him again. Rather pull my kidneys out, honestly. But Janine is not leaving me behind this time. I just got her back and I won't lose her again.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Dearg was his, you know. I was trapped there for ages. If you're going to a Van Ark lab, I can help. And honestly, I can't stay in Abel. It's funny, when we got security fixed at Dearg, first place I wanted to see was where Alice lived. But being there... a lot of older runners, they look at me, they see her. It's hard.

That's why I really came today. I needed to get out. And I guess I started to feel... if I was going to be her ghost, I might as well run, like she did. I don't want to be a ghost, Peter, and I don't want to go back to Dearg. I want to see the world, find out where I fit in.

AMELIA SPENS: People, you should get moving. That wasn't the only staircase leading to the basement.

PETER LYNNE: Over there, Five, look. It's built into the concrete wall, huge round metal door. That looks like a vault to me. Come on, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're at the vault door. Here's the C-4. Do the honors, Five. [explosion] [coughs] Okay. Okay, right. Uh, vault is a big gray room with shelves, lots of shelves. Uh, model yachts, dusty piles of... ooh, gold. Five, Frances, look for those charts.

[paper rustles]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Hey look, found a massive file on a shelf titled Inventory. It's an index of Brewer’s deals and trade contacts. There's a whole chapter on Tunisia.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Gotcha! There's tons of nautical charts on this desk under the sextant. [dragging footsteps] Uh, what was that sound? Five, could you go and check behind the shelf of canned food? [zombie groans] Oh, good. Hello! Amelia, we've found Brewer. Looks like he locked himself in here after he'd been bitten, entombed with his wealth like a rubbish pharaoh.

[laughs] Oh good, we've also got a zombie wife and two zombie children in the shadows. Welcome, everyone. He's taken his whole family down with him. [more zombies growl] And that is going to be the rest of the zombies in the garage. So Five, Frances, we're gonna move towards the door. Need an exit now, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a ramp on the west end of the car park, leads up to the surface. The shutters open from inside. Hurry, get the charts to safety, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Okay Five, Frances, I think we've lost the zoms. Street looks clear behind us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, I'd call that a success. Five even kept the Carthaginian pot. Now we've got the charts, I can have people heading to Tunisia in days.

PETER LYNNE: Janine's finalized the team. It's her, me, Five, Sam, Maxine, and uh, computer expert. Look, I-I am sorry Frances, uh, but honestly, you are safer here. We're going a long way from home, and trust me, Van Ark isn't to be taken lightly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wait a second, look at this. The folder I took, it's full of photos, Brewer logging artifacts he traded. Look at this Roman mosaic from Tunisia, the symbol in the corner.

PETER LYNNE: That is the endless circle from Mor Island.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's not all. Brewer's notes say he sold the mosaic to a military base code-named Red Scorpion in Tunisia before Z-Day. He says the commander of the Red Scorpion base scared him, told him not to record any names. Whatever that place is, it's definitely connected to the fungus, and they've known about it since way before we have.

~

#zombies run #zrs9 #s9m4 #zr transcript #zrs9 spoilers

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 3 (1/2)

I don’t think you actually care about it, but I’ve chosen to write my Bachelor’s Degree Thesis about “Anglo-American Travel and Travel Writing in Italy”. Anglo-American folks, do you see? This is how much I love you guys!

Previously on TWoT: The thaw finally gives the VdL gang the possibility to move from Colter. Emily jumps on a wagon and enjoys the ride southward. In the meantime she gets the chance to know some of the members better. She finds more about their past, about their personalities, she is more and more interested in Arthur, the grumpy cowboy with the fairytale name, and she starts to appreciate them despite the fact that they are criminals. Now it is time to understand how things in their camp work. 

Chapter 3 (1/2) - On the road

Words: 3k

On the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out she had new friends, some new kind of family, an uncommon family, a crazy family, a family of outlaws. She didn’t see it in these terms, of course, but we all know how it works with the Van der Linde gang: once you start getting attached, you’ll never let them go. 

Anyway, at that moment, she couldn’t believe her own feelings. She had alway despised criminals: she believed laws were made for a reason, which is being followed, she hated thieves because she thought they took away the product of honest people’s work, not to mention murderers, who were nothing more than the worst kind of thieves, because they stole our most precious thing, our life. 

So, how could she feel that way? She felt pity for them, for their stories, she felt emotionally attached to Hosea, who talked to her like a father, even better than her real father actually, she had to admit shamefully, because she had never had that kind of talk with him and he had never made her feel that way. In her house, her mother was the backbone of the family.

And then there was that Mr. Arthur, with his sarcasm and “tough and rough”way to do things, and handsome, again she had to admit that too. And Mary-Beth, she looked like the perfect friend, when she would open up a little - she probably was a little shy. And little Jack, she liked that kid too. 

So, on the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out that people are people, no matter what they’ve done in their life, and that good and evil sometimes overlap.

“What’s this place called again?” asked Arthur. 

“Horseshoe Overlook” answered Hosea.

“It’s a good place to lie low?”

“It’ll do for now. And how long do you think Dutch is going to lie low?”

“W-wait, I though you said we were going to Valentine” Emily stepped in.

“It’s a place near Valentine, yes” replied Hosea.

“But… we won’t stay in the city?”

“How do you think we can make twenty people stay in the city?” asked Mr. Morgan.

“And we have to hide, the law is still looking for us, we can’t risk to catch too much attention” added Hosea.

“I don’t understand, why are they looking for you?” she asked.

“On the left here, Arthur. Up the hill” Hosea said pointing at the left path at the crossroad. Then, he sighed and made a little pause before he explained her their situation. 

We all know about the ferry job in Blackwater, how it all went to hell and how Dutch killed an innocent girl “in a bad way”, how Javier tells it. And we know how they had to flee from Blackwater because of the Pinkertons, and how some of them didn’t make it.

Emily remained silent after Hosea told her all this. She was thinking not about the fact that they had stolen a lot of money from that ferry, but about the amount of people who died for that theft. That girl on the ferry, that Davey and that Jenny in the mountains, not to mention all the people they had to shoot to get out of Blackwater. And from the way Hosea was talking about it, she could tell he wasn’t proud of how things had gone.

“Why you do that? Why are you criminals? Can’t you just… change your life?” she asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to do. Make enough money so we can buy some land out in the West and start a new life” answered Hosea.

“But why you have to steal it, can’t you take a loan from the bank or something like that?”

Hosea and Arthur chuckled.

“You’ll soon learn Dutch isn’t fond of the American government, and the bankers, and the industrialists, and everybody else who has just a little power on this land.”

Emily couldn’t understand what Hosea was telling her, she couldn’t understand what Dutch really wanted. He wanted a new life? He wanted to be a criminal? He wanted to fight the government? He reminded her of Robin Hood, but instead of taking from the rich to give to the poor, he took from everybody to give to his family. 

After the climb up the hill, they found themselves in a plain ground where the path was surrounded by trees, and the more they followed it the thicker the trees became, until Arthur pulled the reins and made the wagon stop.

“There you are brother.”

Emily raised her head and looked at the man who had spoken, the one with the parted mustache and bowler hat, laying his back on a big rock at the edge of the road.

“Head in there and follow the track for a bit” he said pointing to a little side path among the trees.

Then, he reached the back of the wagon and hopped in.

“Okay, let’s go” he said with a gesture of his hand.

Emily looked at him and smiled. From close up, she could perfectly tell he came from some place in the South, like Colombia, or Mexico, or maybe Brazil. He also had a strange accent when he spoke, so she was pretty sure he wasn’t from there.

“Where do you come from, Mr…?”

“Javier, Escuella. Mexico.”

“Oh, I would’ve said something like Cuba. Do you like in here?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s a good country.”

“Are you gonna ask everybody about their lives?” said Mr. Morgan with annoyance.

Again, Emily couldn’t understand why he had to be so grumpy. She was just trying to have a conversation, know better the people she was gonna spent some time with.

“Why do you care, Mr. Morgan?” she laughed.

“I’m just afraid you’ll start make me insistent and annoying questions” he replied.

“Don’t worry, from now on I’ll avoid you like the plague” she joked.

Both him and Hosea chuckled.

“So, any trouble getting in here, Javier?” asked the latter.

“No, it went well. This is a good spot” he replied.

“Excellent. I think this will work for us, for now anyway.”

“Were are we going to sleep?” asked Emily as the thought of another night on the ground was starting to worry her.

“We got tents. It’s not like sleeping in the best hotel in town, I know, but it’s not the worst, either. You’ll get used to it” answered Hosea.

“Tents like… like camping?”

In that moment she understood what Dutch meant by “camp” when they had rescued her the day before. And yes, her fear had just been confirmed: she had to sleep on the ground, again. 

“See for yourself. Here we are, home sweet home” Hosea said and at the same time the path into the woods ended and a clearing opened at their sight.

Mr. Arthur made the wagon stop again and Emily took a deep breath before standing up. 

Javier was waiting for her, with his hand ready to be taken to help her getting down. It was the most courteous thing anybody had ever done for her and she looked at him with surprise for a moment before taking it.

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect!” she heard the loud and thundering voice of Dutch saying.

“I hope so” replied Hosea.

“Hey, were have you been?” 

She had just jumped down the wagon and she turned around to meet Mary-Beth’s eyes: she had removed the heavy coat and headscarf and she was wearing a pink shirt on a mauve long skirt. 

Actually, the weather there was way better, the temperature warmer, and Emily didn’t felt anymore in need to wear that bottle-green woolen coat.

“I stayed behind with Hosea. You’ve already settled the camp” she stated looking at the tents around her.

“There’s still a lot to do. Come, I’ll show you around” said Mary-Beth taking one of the crates from the wagon and leading the way.

...

They walked through the tents, passing right in front of Abigail, who was bringing another carpet inside of hers.

“Hi Abigail!” Emily exclaimed. 

Abigail answered with a smile before entering her tent, where she opened and left the carpet among the others on the ground next to John, sleeping on the cot thanks to the reverend’s morphine. 

“We’ll sleep here” said Mary-Beth showing her their place, with the four bedrolls on the two big carpets. 

“What, here?” she heard Emily ask as she left the crate under the tent.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have a tent?”

Mary-Beth looked at her and then pointed at the large piece of cloth above their heads.

“This is our tent.”

“I mean a real tent. Like that one” Emily said pointing at John’s tent.

“Only Dutch and John have those.”

“Why?”

“Because they are… they are…”

Emily and Mary-Beth looked at each other in the eye, exchanging a meaningful look. They both knew it wasn’t exactly right to leave the women sleep on the ground and out in the open air while they had all the privacy and comfortable cots they wished, but there were rules.

“So there is some kind of hierarchy here, like… they are on the top and all of us down here?”

“No, Dutch is the leader, and then Hosea, Arthur and John, then the men, then Miss Grimshaw and then us.”

“So it’s a patriarchal totalitarianism?”

Mary-Beth frowned, not understanding what she wanted to say with those big words.

“Never mind. There is a place I can wash?” Emily asked taking off the coat she had given her.

“If you want to have a bath, we have to go to town, or if you aren’t squeamish you can wash in the stream, but you won’t have much privacy there.”

Emily opened her mouth in astonishment and Mary-Beth was pretty sure she was about to say something outraged, but right at that moment Dutch called them all.

“Come it’s time for the speech” she said to the new girl.

“The speech?” 

“I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now and we are far too poor” was saying Dutch as they both reached his tent quickly, where the rest of the group had gathered.

The speech was the same as always: we all need to work, no more passengers, bring some food, share what you got with the gang, be careful, don’t catch too much attention.

They had almost finished with the usual bunch of encouraging words when Mary-Beth felt the sleeve of her shirt pulled and turning her head she saw Emily looking at her with an expression she couldn’t make out.

As the speech ended and the people scattered, going back to their works, trying to make that place livable, she turned to face the new girl.

“What?” she asked.

“I have to pee.”

...

She hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, and the extreme cold of the mountain had forced her body to keep all on the inside, but when she removed that coat it was like every single muscle relaxed and it came altogether. She needed a bathroom. 

That speech was nothing more that a series of rules they apparently had to follow: go around, make some money - even though she had no idea how to do that - put some in the box, bring some food… 

What the heck did “bring some food” mean? Couldn’t they go to the market and just buy things like all normal people do? It was 1899, so she supposed markets and stores already existed. 

She couldn’t restrain herself anymore, so as soon as they finished with that dictatorial shit, Emily pulled Mary-Beth’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“Well then, go in the woods.”

Emily widened her eyes and for a moment she was about to laugh, but then she understood Mary-Beth wasn’t joking.

“But…what about a toilet? Don’t you…” but she stopped halfway of her sentence.

How were toilets in 1899? Did they have them?

“If you have to go, go in the woods” repeated Mary-Beth.

“What about toilet paper?”

Mary-Beth raised her eyebrows and nodded. 

“Yes, come” she said and leaded her back to her tent, their tent, how she had to call it from now on. 

She went to the back of the wagon right behind the place they were going to sleep and opened a box from which she took a roll of paper very similar to the one they used in 2020, just a little different in color and consistency.

“Here, don’t use too much, this thing is expensive” said Mary-Beth as Emily took a couple of sheets.

“Are you sure you have no toilets?” she asked still full of hope. 

“I have no idea what that means.”

Emily looked at her freckled face trying to find another word to make her understand, when it suddenly came to her mind.

“Restrooms” she exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.

“Restrooms?” asked a voice from behind her.

She turned around and met Karen’s bewildered expression.

“Where men go to make their things?”

“And women don’t?” asked Emily.

“I’m afraid not. Only men can use them” Mary-Beth informed her.

“And we don’t have one, you can find it…”

“In town. Yes, I got it” Emily said with a puff.

There was one reason why she never went camping with her friends: lack of bathrooms.

Sleeping on the ground for a couple of days, she could endure that. Cooking things on a campfire, that could be fun. Bugs and wild animals, unless it was something extremely disgusting like cockroaches, it was fine. But bathrooms… No place to wash properly, no private space to do her things, she couldn’t stand that, and yet there she was.

“I can’t believe I just did that” she murmured to herself walking out of the woods.

As the shadow casted by the trees ended and she stepped in the sunlight, Emily looked at the camp in front of her standing against the endless background of the Heartlands. She had heard of that place, one of the most beautiful of all the States, but she didn’t expect it to be like that, and the tents they had settled fitted perfectly with the general view. The rurality and simplicity of that sight made her feel like she was in some kind of movie, and made her curious to see how those people lived their everyday life. 

She started wandering around: she exchanged a smile with Javier Escuella, asked to Mary-Beth what she was reading, peeked inside Dutch’s tent, the most articulate and comfortable of all the tents, which sight made her a little angry, then she stopped for a while to watch Charles Smith chopping the wood for the campfire, and in the end she approached a table, where Uncle and the big man with the long brown beard were seated.

“Hello” she said sitting next to them on one of the upside-down barrels, and noticing they both had a bottle of what seemed to be beer in their hands, she thought it was a little too early for drinking.

“Hello, dear. Oh! I got something for you” chuckled Uncle standing up and leaving.

“W-what…” she stuttered moving her eyes from Uncle’s back stumbling away to the other man, who shrugged. 

“Isn’t it a little too early for that?” she asked pointing at his bottle.

“Mind your business!”

He had a growling angry voice that made her jump on her seat when he snapped in that way.

“Hey, I was just saying. Sorry if I offended you.”

“Your the one who says you come from the future, right?”

Emily sighed and looked away.

“Yes” she murmured. 

“So you know how things will go? Like, what will become of the West?”

Emily fixed her eyes on the man’s face, asking herself what were his intentions, if he was just playing with her, or if the beer he was drinking had already gone way up to his head. 

“I mean” he whispered leaning forward on the table and as a reflex Emily did the same so that now their faces were really close and she could smell the alcohol in his breath. 

“Will it stay untamed?”

Emily considered what she had to reply to him: the truth, the hard truth, or a lie?

“We’ll we have the chance to live free?”

He looked like he was truly believing in the fact that she came from the future. 

“For the first question: no, the West will be tamed in the end. For the second, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m not a fortune teller.”

The man withdrew from her, looking at her with wary eyes and the same did she, still not sure if he was drunk or anything else.

“Here, my dear.”

Emily turned to Uncle as he sat down again.

“You forgot these on the wagon this morning” he said giving her the oatcakes tin box. “What was Mr. Williamson here telling you?”

“I’m not sure” she replied narrowing her eyes to look at the big man, while he took a sip from his bottle.

“Anyway, thank you for these, Uncle” she said standing up.

“No big deal, no big deal at all.”

Emily headed to what she supposed to be the camp kitchen since Mr. Pearson the cook was there with a big pot on a table putting things inside it. She smiled as he noticed her, but she didn’t stop to talk and opened the tin box to take an oatcake from it. 

Chewing happily for the recover of her source of nourishment she kept walking around the kitchen until she found something that took her smile away. There was a man, someone who she had never seen before, tied to a tree like he was some kind of prisoner. She walked closer, pushed both by the curiosity and the pity for that figure.

“Please, please, water” he whispered without looking at her and she immediately turned around looking left and right and asking herself where could she find water.

Then, she stopped, thinking about the reason why that man was tied, why he was a prisoner. Maybe he was a bad man, a dangerous man, and the fact that she was in a camp of criminals could only make her wonder how dangerous he had to be, if they were so scared by him that they had to tie him up. Emily decided that she didn’t want to find out and taking another bite from her oatcake she walked away as fast as she could.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #hosea matthews #Charles Smith #javier escuella #dutch van der linde #mary-beth gaskill #abigail roberts #karen jones #bill williamson

[cerealbath]

If The Creek Don’t Rise

Rabbit Lightning 

Words: 1.1K

Somewhere in Tennessee. September 2004. 

They’d bought this decrepit trailer home six months back- or Redd had, anyhow. Because Redd did things like that, reckless stuff Lohn would never dream of doing. That’s the kind of person Redd was; Lohn figured that out long ago. He just had big dreams. Dreams bigger than either of their wallets’ faded squares in the back pockets of their Levi’s.

But the mobile home was gross, jus’ gross. Gross when they bought it and gross now. It had only one bedroom, thick dirty carpet, and maroon and cream striped wallpaper with little flowers up on the gaudy crown molding. Redd thought he could fix this place up and call it home, or at least give them a place to go between tours. The fixin’ up never happened, but he’d dropped thirteen grand on the place, so here they were.

“Tourin’,” Redd drawls, one hand on his hip as the other stabs the bonfire of rotten leaves and beer cans. Embers flare up in little fireworks, popping in the stagnant air of late summer. 

“What about it?” Lohn takes a sip from his too-warm beer and watches Redd’s face in the rosey glow of the fire.

“We oughta,” Redd concludes, the pyromaniac inside of him satiated as he settles back into his camp chair. 

“Well,” Lohn begins, lets the thought drip to a close before it goes anywhere else. 

“Well, what?” Redd squints from behind his orange glasses. “Don’t you wanna?” 

Lohn frowns, shrugs halfheartedly, and says, “It’s not like you care if I want to or not. And take those glasses off, ‘s dark as hell out here.” 

“Keepin’ the smoke outta my eyes, man. Is that why you’re squintin’ over there? Lookin’ ready for a fight?”

“I ain’t ready for nothin’,” Lohn murmurs, voice low and melancholy. 

Cicadas scream into the lingering silence from the woods beside the trailer park. Soon, they’ll be hibernating, or dead, Lohn doesn’t really know what happens once the cold sets in, once again, but the duo has long since tuned them out. This summer has been long, and good, and kind, but the first day of fall is soon and the good can’t last forever.

“And what do you mean I don’ care? I care like crazy ‘bout you, lightning,” Redd’s voice suddenly seems thunderous, like he’s competing with the bugs in the trees far beyond where the two are sat only two feet apart. 

“Shush,” Lohn bites, tossing his beer can into the grass. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Lohn,” Redd says firmly. “What’s with you?

Lohn grits his teeth and stares directly into the fire, tries to let the smoke water his eyes before his body does it first. “Forget it.”

Redd’s got big dreams, Lohn reminds himself.  Dreams bigger than this overgrown patch of grass and weeds. Lohn inhales, lets his head fall back, back far enough that his cowboy hat threatens to fall off, until he’s staring straight up at all the stars in the whole of space. They dance in the saltwater gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Redd moves, then, settles back, spreads his legs, and taps his thighs twice.

Lohn looks back down with wide blue eyes at the invitation, his mouth open in the smallest ‘o’. He pushes himself up and kneels into Redd’s chair, straddles him and sits back on his thighs. The camp chair groans with the stretch of canvas. 

Redd holds Link’s face in his palms and kisses Lohn briefly, enough for Lohn to only miss the soft scrape of Redd’s mustache. “Better?” Redd breathes.

Link buries his face in Redd’s neck and frowns into the warm skin there. “I just don’t want to tour right now.”

“Used to love touring, used to love seeing people hear our music for the first time. Drove you wild, ‘lightning. Besides, if we tour more we can get a better place than this.”

Lohn sighs in admission and says, “At least here we can do this.”

Redd pauses, freezes his arms midway down Lohn’s back in a moment of clarity. “Damn, is that what this is about?” You don’t like tourin’ ‘cause I can’t love you like this on stage?” Redd presses his lips to Lohn’s neck and stays there long enough to feel the vibrations when Link responds.

“It’s not like that, Redd! I,” Lohn stumbles, caught up in the warm breath on his throat, “I like being here with you. Feels like we’re bein’ domestic. N’’ hell, I like it. But you always seem to be in a rush to end it.”

“You wait, darlin’, I’ll buy you a whole damn split level. We’ll have enough room for an above ground pool. Couple’a dogs…” 

Lohn shifts and flinches when the chair clicks under them. “Is that why you’re in such a rush?”

“That’s why I bought this shithole, why I drove us out to Los Angeles in the old van to perform on that mornin’ show. Everything I do, it’s so I can give you a life like that, Lohn.” Redd says, “and I’ll do it as long as the creek don’t rise.”

Lohn fights with the lump in his throat, twists his fingers into the soft fabric of Redd’s vest. “Okay. But we’re livin’ right now, Moonshine. Right now. If we don’t slow down we’ll miss it.”

Redd slides his fingers under Lohn’s button down and rests them on the small of his back. “No more touring until next year, then. County fairs are over anyhow. I’ll cancel the show at the apple orchard…”

“No, don’t cancel that,” Lohn runs his fingers over Redd’s beard, “I like the cider they give us.”

Redd grins. “Can I take you out, Lohn? I wanna show you off, fronta’ God and everybody.”

“You’re gross when you’re drunk. Just stop actin’ like someone’s chasing you. We’re happy, Redd. let’s be happy for a little bit. You’re workin’ so hard to give me a life I want, well, I want this.”

Redd leans back and wraps his arms around the man in his lap, basks in the dying warmth of the fire. Lohn gives up on being comfortable and simply takes in the musky scent of his Redd. This patch of grass is theirs. These chairs, this fire, this single wide? Theirs. 

And suddenly, in the last light of the embers, they see the world like it’s endless and turning slowly, so slowly it seems perfectly content to be impossibly still. Lohn closes his eyes, tries to drown the cicadas with the sound of Redd’s pulse.

#rhink #rabbit lightning #wren writes #i love them so much

[fanfictionfairground]

When the Devil Tips Their Hat (Prologue)

Hey All! I am experimenting with canon divergence so this is the first chapter in a multi-part western epic where I answer the question “what would happen if at least one Van der Linde gang member stumbled across someone more competent and were able to live happily ever after...after some more murder and crimes of course?”

The main story will be a SeanxOC but the spin-off patches in this giant quit will include CharlesxOC, ArthurxOC, and JavierxOC so stay tuned. Let me know what y’all think!

Photo by Luke Southern 

Read on Archive of Our Own

________________________________________________________________

The Devil tips their hat only when their hands are too full to hold you.

Trading the chill of Colter for the sheep shit tinged town of Valentine was more akin to traveling laterally across rock bottom than beginning the hazardous claw upwards. With no energy or men to plan another major heist, the Van der Linde gang were stuck doing small cons and petty thefts to replenish camp funds and their bruised ego.

Which is why Arthur Morgan was playing shark loan instead of sharpshooter this humid afternoon.

The dirt kicking up from Tiffany’s hooves dusted Arthur’s jeans, the horse’s golden coat turned grey.

Thomas Downes borrowed money from Strauss. Something about a bad harvest. Not that it mattered as anyone foolish enough to borrow from Strauss wouldn’t have enough sense to get themselves out of trouble in the first place. 

He slowed Tiffany to a trot, eyeing the wagon parked near the broken, white picket fence outside the Downe’s home.

Hitching her to the fence, Arthur hopped off and stalked around the large purple wagon. There was no writing on either side indicating what it was for but judging by the white Arabian horses nickering at the head, he could imagine that they had to be of some opulence.

"I’m sorry, sir, but if you’ve come to visit the Downes I suggest you return from whence you came.”

Arthur turned on his heel, his spurs jingling. A tall, thin man in a black coat, eye patch and pencil mustache approached the wagon, lowering the back to stow his carpet bag. His black curly hair was pulled into a ponytail and tucked beneath a wide brim black hat.

“You their butler or somethin’?” Arthur asked, striking his match on the bottom of his boot.

“While my bedside manner is impeccable, my cooking leaves much to be desired,” the man said with a laugh wavering on becoming a giggle. Arthur flinched when the man reached inside his coat, relaxing at the lavender colored business card. “Doctor M. Morningstar, at your service.”

He took the business card, flipping it between his large, calloused fingertips, the gold seal with his initials catching in the afternoon sun. He leaned against the wagon, sizing up the doctor as he pushed the card into his back pocket.

“Quite some callin’ cards; you from Saint Dennis?”

Morningstar snorted. “I have no patience for city living nor the people who inhabit it. I prefer traveling around, get to see the country and meet fine folks like yourself, Mister…”

“Kilgore,” Arthur offered, the alias slipping off his tongue too easily. He continued, mumbling as he scratched his cheek, “’though I can’t say I’m too fine.”

Arthur began to approach the gate only to be stopped by Morningstar’s sharp voice once more.

“You don’t want to go in there.”

“Can afford a doctor but can’t pay back their debt, that it?” he asked, resting his hands on his holster.

“If I offered Mr. Downes the same type of payment plan you did, I wouldn’t see my $15 until his son finished burying him,” the doctor said, climbing into the wagon’s seat.

“Goddammit, Strauss,” Arthur cursed, running his hand down his sweaty face. He reached out and snatched Morningstar’s arm, wrapping his hand easily around the thin bicep. “I ain’t leaving here empty handed, and if you’re keen on keepin’ me from makin’ my house call, you better have more in your pocket than callin’ cards.”

Morningstar sighed, more inconvenienced than frightened, rubbing his temples before hopping off the wagon, heading toward the back. “How much do they owe you?”

Arthur let go of his arm, scratching his cheek. “Not sure. I collect, have nothin’ to do with distributin’.”

“Clearly.”

The doctor climbed into the back of the wagon, contorting to fit in the mobile doctor’s office.

“How you treat anybody back there?” Arthur asked, craning his neck to get more of a glimpse inside.

“Very carefully. This wagon belonged to an herb salesman who built the storage shelves right into the back. A clever man, albeit small.”

He could hear the doctor’s snort from inside the wagon. “Well here’s $200 and a bottle of whiskey; will that do?”

“Sure,” he said, taking the cash to count it before accepting the bottle. Arthur whistled for Tiffany, stashing the whiskey bottle in her saddlebag. “Pleasure doing business with you, Doctor Morningstar; I’m sure the Downes appreciate your charity.”

“It’s not about charity, Mister Kilgore so much as it is not causing an epidemic,” Morningstar huffed, climbing out of the back as Arthur hopped onto his horse. “You owe me your life, sir! You’d have surely caught tuberculosis if I weren’t here to stop you!”

Arthur waved lazily over his shoulder, disappearing in a cloud of dust as Tiffany galloped back toward camp.

#arthur morgan #when the devil series #rd2 #rd2 fic #rd2 fanfic #red dead redemption #red dead redemption fanfication #red dead redemption fanfic

[sitkowskiryan]

secret keepers. neuf.

tyler with the rainbow flag is amazing <3

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Halloween was Tyler's favorite holiday for multiple reasons. Not only was it colder now for sweaters, but you could dress up spookily and not look weird. You could also watch horror movies and eat copious amount of candy until your stomach is about to pop!

Tyler also loves the holiday because his school does a little Halloween parade where the children can show off their costumes to the rest of the school. They always got so excited and it made his heart swell in fondness for them. He hoped that their joy for the holiday and life in general would remain for the entire lives.

"Ty look!" Olivia squealed as she bounced into the classroom, Hayley smirking at the teacher before waving as she left. Tyler hushed the little girl softly and grinned down at her. They had tried to explain to her that she couldn't call him Tyler at school, but she was still having trouble with remembering.

"Mr. Joseph, love," he reminded her quietly, bending down to help her take her backpack off and put it in her cubby.

"Look I'm Wenesday! On a Wenesday!" She giggled, bouncing after him happily. Tyler smiled at her, leading her back to the carpet so she could get ready for their morning routine.

"I see, and is daddy Gomez?" He questioned, giggling when she nodded her head in confirmation. Josh had been very adamant that he was not going to be Kristoff and nor was he going to be any sidekick so Olivia had picked her third favorite costume with a pout that didn't last long. Josh had agreed to even dye his hair black so he could match the role better. Though Tyler had feeling that Hayley was going to be dying it again soon.

Tyler himself was wearing a simple skeleton hoodie with matching legging and black vans. He and Josh were going to match, but Olivia wanted to be Wednesday Addams and Josh couldn't say no and who was Tyler to stand in the way of the princess' wishes?

Helping her sit on the carpet, Tyler moved to the front of the class and waited for the bell to ring before he clapped his hands to get their attention.

"Good morning guys! Happy Halloween! You all look so great!"

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

"Daddy you shoulda seen it! Ty can zip his shirt up and be a real skelly!" Olivia raved, hanging from her father's neck as the elder tried to unlock the door, Tyler unhelpfully giggling to the side. Josh shot him a glare, but finally got the door open and waddled with his daughter hanging from him.

"I know flower, I have one remember?" Josh teased, attempting to place her down, but the girl refused giggling happily into his face. Tyler laughed along with her, reaching over to scoop her off the man before she broke Josh's neck. The elder was dressed in a very stylish pinstriped suit and had grown out his facial hair to match the character of Gomez.

Tyler briefly wondered what it would feel like to have facial hair like Josh's. He had only successfully grown stubble before, outside of other body hair of course, and Josh had a full beard and mustache. The teacher also wondered what it would feel like with Josh's face between his thighs. He shook his head to rid him of the thoughts and bounced the young girl on his hip, listening to her delighted shrieks. Had he not spent all day with five year olds and Olivia outside of school, he'd surely be deaf.

"Candy!" Olivia cheered, attempting to get out of Tyler's hold, but the brunet held her securely. Tyler tutted and moved towards the living room.

"You have to eat actual food first love, and then wait for it to get darker," he explained, not relenting when Olivia struggled in his arms or pouted at him. "What do you want daddy to make for dinner?" He asked after she gave up struggling, slumping in his arms. She mumbled something into his chest and he smiled softly. "What was that love?" He coaxed, rubbing her back gently.

"Nuggets and mac n' cheese," Tyler smiled, swaying his hips slightly to rock the cranky girl to sleep. She didn't sleep at nap time after all, wanting to cuddle with Tyler even though the man was firm that he couldn't hold her like that in front of the others. It would not be right or fair. Josh smiled at his two babies, going over to press a kiss to their heads before going to start on dinner.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

"Olivia! Stay with me!" Josh sighed exasperated as he chased after his daughter. It was finally time for trick or treating and Olivia was proving to be over-zealous in her route, leaving Josh's side frequently and having to have the older man chase her down. The teacher stood back with a small remembering how his younger brothers used to be with Halloween and how much his mother had pulled out with three boys running from her.

"Honey," Tyler whispered, "You are gonna tire yourself out. She is fine as long as she is in front of us in eye sight," he tried to reason. They had put reflective tape on her to be able to see her in the dark. Josh sighed softly, nodding in defeated as Olivia ran up to another house without them. Tyler wrapped his arm around the older man and rubbed his side. If the house ahead foretold anything, it would probably scare Olivia to their side soon.

"Just don't want her to not need her daddy too soon," Josh whispered back to Tyler, bending awkwardly to rest his head on Tyler's shoulder. The teacher was only a few inches shorter, but Josh loved it pointing out to him. Tyler ran his fingers through the freshly dyed hair, not at all surprised when they came away inky. He had only just dyed his hair a few days okay and the black seemed to bleed a lot.

"She'll always need daddy, how is she gonna make herself chicken nuggets?" Tyler teased, hugging Josh close to him as the older man snickered and rubbed his stubbly face against Tyler's own. It was a new feeling that Tyler had never felt, but welcomed whole-heartedly.

"Daddy!" Olivia's scream had both of them looking up to see in fact Tyler had been right about the house ahead having jump scares. She crashed into Tyler's side first, hiding her face into his stomach, her other hand clutching onto Josh's pants. The older man carefully picked up his daughter and rocked her gently. Tyler grabbed her bag of candy before anyone else could pick it up and smiled at the sheepish home owner.

"Here," he offered, holding out the basket of candy. He looked guilty, but Tyler assured him that it was all in the fun of the holiday and picked out a piece for Olivia seeing as the girl wasn't leaving Josh's neck anytime soon. Tyler made his way back to his boyfriend and raised an eyebrow in question at Josh.

"Wanna continue rose bud or go home?" Olivia shook her head, but they did not know for what option.

"Love, do you wanna keep going?" Tyler asked softly, his own hand joining Josh's to rub her back. She nodded slowly, sniffling loudly.

"Daddy come too?" She mumbled, looking up at Josh and he nodded his head instantly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Daddy will always protect you flower," Tyler smiled goofily at his boyfriend, handing him the bag so he could collect the candy for her. Josh carried her for awhile before Tyler got his turn to carry the still scared girl up to houses, many of the owners smiling in sympathy for the girl's fear.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

"My daughter is a sack of potatoes," Josh grunted, placing the sleeping Olivia down into bed. He already began moving around to get her changed for bed and Tyler couldn't help, but watch the tenderness that Josh expressed with his daughter. Sure he saw that tender side of Josh too, but it was nothing like how it was when just him and his daughter. "Goodnight sweet flower," Josh whispered, standing up from the bed and jumping when he saw Tyler standing there. He playfully glared and pushed him out of the room.

After quickly checking the candy and hiding it from the five year old ( whilst eating some of it themselves ), the couple retired to bed, Tyler spooned by Josh in the middle of the elder's bed. This had to be the best Halloween yet.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Word Count: 1,436

i'm really happy that this got to come out close to halloween because i really thought it was going to come out like in the middle of november! but i hope you guys like this and let me know because i love comments, even if it is little comments that are "AH JOSH CAN HAVE ME" or anything like that! it makes me smile!

I SAW TWENTY ONE PILOTS LAST NIGHT AND TYLER GRABBED THE RAINBOW FLAG DURING MY FAVORITE SONG AND I AM LIVING MY ABSOLUTE BEST LIFE!

It was amazing and I had so much fun!

that picture isn't mine by the way! i have the whole video of holding onto you because that is my favorite song and the beginning shows him grabbing the flag!

until next time,

stay alive sunshines <3

- courtney

#joshler #josh dun #tyler joseph #twenty one pilots #top #fanfiction #gay fanfiction #secret keeprs #scarycis #writing

[incorrect-ego-quotes]

I wonder how Anti would react to Kinkiplier? Would he be just as annoyed as Dark?

okay, so the mission seemed easy enough. sneak into the other egos offices, steal a laptop, and rush back to their own meeting room so they can go through it. kink nodded as wilford and dark brought him up the speed. "you do realize we're only asked you because you're quite literally the only ego free right now, right?" dark asked.kink nodded and made a noise of approval. his gag still in place. "and you do realize if you mess this all up they'll either kill you or hold you captive, right?" wilford added, "you don't wanna end up like mark bop, poor guy was capture for a week and now all he speaks in is gibberish and babbling."kink tilted his head in a sign of confusion, furrowing his eyebrows. dark rolling his eyes before shooing him out the getaway van, "wait!"kink turned back around, dark cringing as he unbuckled the gag from kink's mouth and removed his blindfold. "please, for the love of evil, throw this shit away." he pulls up the wet gag."no can do, darkidoo--""hey! that's my nickname for dark!" wilford yells. turning around towards the commotion."i mean, as long as i'm screaming for dark under some covers i'll take any name he likes," kink purred. dark giving a...less than amused face and flipping him off before closing the van door. "he...is gross." dark shuddered, climbing into the front seat of the van. "are you sure he's not just misunderstood? perhaps he has different tastes but he does hold consent and respect above all things. perhaps he has weird kinks but he makes sure everyone and everybody is safe, sane, and comfortable. perhaps its us who just don't understand the taboo behind different lusts just because its different to our own, we're the ignorant ones here.""...jesus, wil, where did that come from?""hmm? oh, sorry, blacked out there for a second," wilford sits up, "anyways yeah kink's fuckin' weird." ***kink successfully snuck past their so called security guard -- which was really just some undead looking boy with a baseball bat. poor guy was muttering about a 'stupid job' and 'why can't chase be security man today?'he barrel rolled out the hallway and into the nearest open office. thankful a guy like him is so flexible (in more ways than one). nearly missing a pair walking by. "dude, the avengers can beat any type of dorky magic bullshit any fuckin' day." one dressed in a red superhero suit spoke up. walking beside another copy of himself wearing a tuxedo and cat mask. the two arguing, making kink laugh. what nerds. finally he stood up, closing the office door and getting to work at finding a laptop. not taking in his surroundings until, well, it was too late. looking up from his search at the desk. the walls were a shade of black, dark -- almost sickly green carpeting under him. the walls adorned with targets, all littered with /knives/ instead of darts. the bookshelf filled with books of rituals of...well, who know what fucking demonic powers. the desk itself was littered with instructions on different methods to kill. and a large, stainless, steel knife on the edge of the desk. "what the hell kind of office is this?" kink asked. his blood running cold as he heard the doorknob jiggle. ducking under the desk and hiding out as he heard the owner of the office enter. he bet it was some emo kid, some dark and edgy guy who probably still listened to Panic! At The Disco or Green Day. he wasn't expecting such a cute and mysterious boy sitting down in the office chair. scrolling through his phone, his dark eyes and glitching static. smiling as he felt the need to woo him off his feet arise. kink bet this cutie was into some weird shit and he was all for it. "hello, baby boy." kink said as he moved himself from under the desk. anti jumping back and screeching, almost hissing. "who the hell -- wait," anti stopped, "wilford? did you shave the mustache?""what? no i'm not--""bim?""no, i'm not--"host? did you get some shady plastic surgery to give ya eyes?""i'm not!! i'm a new egos!!"anti sat up, intrigued. his need to kill and stuff this new ego's dead body down a trash can subsiding, "new ego? what the hell is that mark doing making new egos," he sighed. "what's your name?""kinkiplier.""...kinkiplier...?"the sudden outburst of laughing made kink frown, it...it was a good name!! it /fit/ him like a glove!! oh, but he knew how to deal with people like this. dark and mean, but once you got under their skin..."laugh now, but soon i'l have you squirming and screaming, baby boy." kink smiled as he inched closer to anti. anti's laugh dying on his lips."erm, what the hell are you on about?""can't you see? i know how bad boys like you like to play." kink laughed low in his throat. inching anti back into his chair. kink taking a seat right on anti's lap. the position awkward, but suitable for his plans."bad boy? i'm...i'm just -- i mean!" kink laughed again, catching anti's chin in his fingers gently. making him look into his eyes, half lidded and full of lust. "tell me, baby boy, what's your fantasy? anything you dream of when alone, and don't be shy," he leans in to peck anti's cold lips, "i'm no prude like the others. i can make all those fantasies come true."anti flustered as he experimentally kissed kink back. heart thumping and breathing slow and deep. he's never had this attention before. most run away and cower in fear of him, this guy was...different. in a good way. "i...like this one thing...""hmm?" kink smiled as he kisses anti's cheek, "what is it, baby boy? give me 30 minutes and i can make those little dreams come true..."***"WHERE IS HE?!" dark finally cracked. throwing the soda he had been drinking out the window in rage. the poor woman who was drenched in it looked around confused at whoever dirtied her. "probably dead. or alive but captured. or playing dead." wilford said through bites of his burger. the kinky ego gone for so long they had time to drive off and get a late lunch. getting nothing for kinkiplier though, he didn't pitch in at all. "or...he...wouldn't use other methods of getting a laptop from them would he...?"the two stared at each other. wilford with a few fries hanging out his closed mouth and dark's realization. "oh no." the two stared back at the building as kink rushed out. climbing into the van with the promised laptop. "DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE." he yelled as wilford sped away, robbie the zombie trying to chase after the two before throwing a tantrum and rushing back inside the building. "don't ever say i--wait you guys got lunch?" kink stopped as he noticed the burger wrapper, "without me?!""hey, you didn't pitch in jack shit for this Burger King, so suffer." wilford munched away, "how did you get it?""i used some good old fashioned methods to get it. nothing too bad though," he laughed as the two others groaned. grabbing his gag again, "hey. question -- who was the cute demon dude with the wound in his neck?"the van screeched to a halt. the two head egos looking back at kink, who had his gag back in, smiling away. "you went after anti?!"***"DOCTOR!" robbie the zombie rushed back in, "they got away!! and i don't want to be security anymore, its hard!!""damnit!" schneeplestein cursed, throwing his pen and clipboard down in anger. "what did they take?! who did they take?! is everyone here?!""doc," chase rushed in, "found everyone but..." he shook his head, "i need help with anti."schneeplestein grabbed his first aid kit from his own office and ran over to anti's office. expecting the worse scenario -- anti decapitated, anti shot, anti (ironically) stabbed. he wasn't expecting to see anti disheveled and clothed. tied up some weird kinky bdsm way, thick rope over his chest and legs, blindfold in place and a makeshift gag in his mouth. "what the?" the doctor muttered as he ripped the gag and blindfold away from anti. anti thrashing about. "FINALLY," he gasped, "what took ya so long, kink? i thought you said you're gonna get the--""kink?""...schneep? oh--" he tried to get out of his binds, blushing madly as he trashed about, "g-get me out of here!! i...i was tied up by some mad man!! i had no idea!!""anti, is that a hickey on your neck?" "shut UP chase!! it was...a mad man who marks his victims with...uh," schneeplestein laughed as he cut through the rope. anti sitting up, crossing his arms. grumpy and used. he knew kink was bullshitting him -- they always did. and now kinkiplier was just added to the list of 'People I'm Going To Kill Without Mercy' -- right under dark and right before the cast of Riverdale (hey, he hated the show a lot. give him a break.) "...hey," anti spoke up from the teasing and mocking laughter, "did that fucker take my laptop?"the laughter quickly died as they all looked at anti. "...you /idiot!/"***kink sat down with the host in the shared break room, tired from his so called mission that day. removing his gag to sip at the hot chocolate he'd made himself. "the host inquires about the last mission kink had with the other egos today.""hmm? oh yeah, /that/." he laughs as he takes another sip, "i walked right in and put the moves on the dark emo one.""anti? the ego with the wound in his neck?""yeah yeah!! him," he laughs more, "i just wooed him, as i do, and he told me some private shit he likes. tied him up, promised i'd come back with something to gag him with. i took his laptop and booked it out of there, i was like james bond." he hums the theme song as host laughs quietly. "the host must ask what anti is into. he's a peculiar ego who nobody knows much about.""aw, just normal stuff. he really likes being told he's loved and appreciated. poor guy's starving for positive attention.""the host feels displeased with this realization. did kinkiplier really play with anti's emotions?""host, babe, its a dog eat dog world. gotta take advantage of what you can to move forward," kink chuckles darkly, "you should know that. right, author? stealing people out of their lives to move forward in what was your career. killing, maiming, and silencing anyone who got in your way. don't think just because i act the way i do doesnt mean i don't know shit about you and everyone else here, author.""...the host is uncomfortable and wishes to leave. a panic attack rising in his chest, ready to burst out the longer he stays.""aw, i'm just messing with ya, hostie!!" kink laughs and presses a kiss to the host's cheek, the smell of hot chocolate rich in the host's nose, "im gonna go see google, see ya around!"the host sits and starts to cry bloodied tears. holding his cup of coffee close. shaking with fright. no...no, he...he was promised those secrets were buried. he was promised they would never be brought up again. the host cries harder as the gravity of what just happened hits him. perhaps kinkiplier isn't what he seems.

[the-sonic-cafe]

Hot Chocolate- Fan Fiction

Here’s a Sonic fic I wrote a few weeks back for the winter prompt of hot chocolate. I am hoping to do more Christmas prompt Sonic stories and have them all somewhat connected, but we will see.  Without further ado, the story:

“Mama, look, you can’t even see the front garden bed!” Cream gasped, her hands planted against the window pane as she stared wide eyed at the raging blizzard outside.

Vanilla smiled and stoked the fire. It certainly was a spell of bad weather they were having. Putting the poker back on its hook, she crossed the earth colored carpet until she was standing next to her daughter, “You’re certainly right.”

Cream withdrew her gaze from outside and looked up at Vanilla, “When will it stop snowing so we can play outside?”

“Probably not until tomorrow, baby. Remember what the weatherman said?”

“Oh, yeah…” she said, deflated.

Vanilla placed a hand on Cream’s shoulder, “Don’t look so down, sweetie. There are still plenty of fun things for us to do inside.”

“Like what?” she asked, tugging at a loose thread on her sweater.

“Well, I was thinking maybe we could make some hot chocolate?”

The six-year-old perked up immediately at that and clasped her hands together, “Can we?” At her mother’s nod, Cream whipped her head over to Cheese who was currently wrapped in a wool blanket on the couch, “Cheese, did you hear that? We’re going to make some hot chocolate! Do you want some?”

“Chao, chao!” he replied enthusiastically and untangled himself from the blanket.

“Alright, let’s go make some,” Vanilla said gesturing to the kitchen.

Cream sped on ahead with Cheese right behind her and immediately went to work dragging the stool she used to help her mom cook over to the counter. Vanilla followed in after her, glad her baby was content being indoors at the moment. Unfortunately, making hot chocolate wouldn’t take up the whole day. She was unsure what they would do after, but she’d have to think of something lest she deal with Cream moping around in boredom until tomorrow.

The mother and daughter duo set to work heating a pot of milk and preparing the cocoa powder all while singing Christmas carols in matching aprons. Cheese seemed content flying about the kitchen waiting with great anticipation for the warm beverage.

Vanilla was stirring the contents in the pot together when a knocking sound echoed into the kitchen. She shared a look with Cream, wondering if that could have possibly been the wind or branches hitting the roof. The sound emitted a second time. It was coming from the front door!

“You keep stirring, Cream,” she said, passing the wooden spoon, “I’ll go check the door.”

She quickly walked to the front entrance. If anyone had fought the storm to get to her house, it must be an emergency. Why didn’t they just call? Were the phone lines down? All these thoughts vanished from her head the moment she opened the door and saw Sonic the Hedgehog shivering on her doorstep.

“Sonic!” she gasped, voice barely carrying over the howling wind as the cold bit at her face, “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?”

“F-freezing, actually,” he replied. She could tell he meant it as a joke, but his chattering teeth ruined the effect.

“Come inside this instant!” she fretted, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him through the door. Quickly, she closed it, efficiently stopping the snow flurries from filling the entrance hall. Turning back around she gave Sonic a one over. His arms were tightly wrapped around his chest and his quills were covered with snow. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat? Or a scarf at least?” Sonic opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off, “Oh never mind that right now, come this way. You need to warm up. I’ve got a fire going in the living room and you’re going to sit right in front of it!”

“Mr. Sonic?”

Vanilla looked behind her to see Cream peaking around the corner with excited eyes. Her daughter adored Sonic. Anytime the young hero was in town, Cream would insistently ask when he’d be stopping by to see her. Vanilla would usually remark that Sonic was very busy and might not have time to visit, but he almost always made time, even if it was just for an hour.

“Cream, aren’t you supposed to be watching the hot chocolate?”

“It’s done, Mama. I turned off the stove,” she said absentmindedly, eyes not leaving Sonic.

“H-hey, Cream,” he greeted with a stutter.

“Sonic has been out in this horrible weather, dear,” she said, lightly encouraging Sonic to continue moving forward by placing a hand on his back, “I need you to come help me.”

“What can I do?” she asked with a look of determination.

“Go get a towel from the bathroom.”

Cream disappeared down the hall while Vanilla guided Sonic to stand next to the fire.

“You stay right there,” she said sternly, before moving over to the plush chair that sat in the corner of the room. Grabbing it by the armrest, she tugged it across the floor.

“Th-thanks, Miss Van-nilla. S-sorry ‘bout the carpet,” he said, shoes shifting on the now dampened floor.

Vanilla shook her head, “No trouble at all, sweetie, and that’s nothing to worry about. It will dry.”

“Chao!” Cheese flew around Sonic’s head twice before stopping inches away from his face, “Chao chao chao!”

Sonic chuckled, “I’m fine, Cheese. J-just a little cold s’all.”

Cream reappeared from the hall, “I got a towel!”

“Thank you,” Vanilla grabbed the cloth from her and gave it to Sonic, “Wipe that melting snow off before you catch your death of cold.”

As Sonic started wiping at his quills, Cream came and stood by his side, “What were you doing outside in the snowstorm, Mr. Sonic?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Vanilla said, giving him a reprimanding look.

“I was comin’ back f-from visiting a friend in Shamar. I didn’t kn-know the weather over here was so b-bad ‘til I was running in it.”

Vanilla retook the now damp towel from Sonic’s hands, “That’s why it’s important to pay attention to things like weather!” Sonic winced as her maternal side took over. Cream just gave him sympathetic look, “You keep not thinking before you act and you’re going to end up hurt! You could have frozen to death out there! And you’ll be lucky if you don’t get sick, young man!”

Sighing, she allowed her tense form to relax. Worry sometimes caused her temper to flare a bit, but it was just because she cared. Besides, if she didn’t scold the world-renowned hero every once in a while, who would?

“But I suppose all turned out well. I am glad you managed to find the house,” Vanilla said, grabbing the blanket Cheese had been using earlier off the couch, “Now, sit down. We’ve got to warm you back up.”

Sonic complied and stiffly sat down in the chair. Carefully, Vanilla placed the blanket over him, “Now, how about some hot chocolate? I believe it will do you good and help stop the shivers.”

“Hot chocolate s-sounds great,” he said, grinning.

Patting his shoulder twice, she moved back into the kitchen. She grabbed three Christmas-themed mugs from the top cabinet and the pot off the stove. As she poured the drinks, she could hear Cream laughing at something Sonic had said. She chuckled.

Sonic was a good kid, but sometimes he got so caught up in helping others that he’d forget to take care of himself. Vanilla shook her head. Even though she was a mother of one, she sometimes felt like a mother of twenty.

Reaching into the fridge, she pulled out a can of whipped cream and squirted a dollop into each cup. Perfect!

Taking hold of the steaming mugs, she made her way back to the living room. Cream had her hands resting on the armchair clearly hanging onto every word Sonic was saying, “—fessor Pickle said he was going home to Spongonia to spend the holidays with his daughter.”

“Here you are, you two,” Vanilla smiled, passing both Cream and Sonic a mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Thanks, Mama!”

“Thanks, Miss V!”

“So, what are two talking about?” she asked, taking note that Sonic’s teeth were no longer chattering.

“Sonic’s visit with Professor Pickle!” Cream answered before blowing on her hot chocolate.

“Ah!” Vanilla said, taking a seat on the couch, “I am surprised Tails didn’t go with you. Isn’t he close with the professor?”

“Oh yeah! Those two love to talk ancient stuff.” Sonic said adjusting the blanket, “But it was actually an unexpected drop-in. I was just in the area and decided to check in on him. You know, make sure he’s not dealing with any maniacal mad doctors or robots.”

Vanilla hummed in response, cautiously sipping at the drink. It turned out really good, she had to admit. Chocolatey and smooth.

Seeing her take a drink must have prompted Sonic, for he immediately brought the cup to his lips. He made a loud slurping sound which caused Cream giggle. Vanilla simply shook her head good-naturedly, choosing to ignore the lack of manners.

“Mm-mm! That’s good!” Sonic said.

Cream’s giggles turned into a high-pitched laugh, “Mr. Sonic! You have a whip cream mustache!”

“Huh, I do?” he questioned, eyes going crossed in an attempt to catch a peek, “Well what-do-ya know? Do I look more sophisticated?”

Cream nodded, her eyes twinkling in delight.

Putting on an accent, he grabbed Cream’s hand in one of his, “Excuse me, Miss, but did you help make this exquisite hot chocolate?”

“I did with my Mama, Mr. King Sonic,” she said playing along.

“I dare say it is the best hot chocolate I have ever tasted! I hereby declare you and Miss V to be the royal hot chocolate makers!” then he bent his head down and kissed Cream’s gloved hand, succeeding a wiping a little of the whipped cream off.

“You got some on me!” she gasped.

“A thousand pardons,” he winked.

The two broke out laughing and Vanilla couldn’t help but join in.

They continued to talk about Sonic’s visit to Shamar, Cream’s Christmas list to Santa, and the Amy’s upcoming Christmas party until all their cups were empty.

“I suppose I’ll have to start cooking lunch in a little bit.” Vanilla said standing back up and grabbing everyone’s glasses, “Do you eat creamy broccoli soup, Sonic?”

“Yeah, actually, but I’m staying for lunch?” he questioned.

“I assumed you’d be staying the rest of the day, unless you want to go back out in that storm again,” she said, giving him a playful smile.

“Nah, I’d rather stay the rest of the day.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Cream said bouncing up and down, “We can play all kinds of games together! Do you wanna play Candy Land?”

“Sure! How about you, Miss Vanilla? You in?”

She nodded, “Sounds like fun. I’ll go put these in the sink and you two go and get the game.”

“Come on, Mr. Sonic! The game’s in my room!” Cream said, grabbing him by the hand and pulling.

Sonic chuckled and allowed himself to be pulled up off the chair. The two vanished down the hall, leaving Vanilla in the living room. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have to worry about Cream being bored for the rest of the day.

#cafe chat #cafe writings #sonic the hedgehog #vanilla the rabbit #cream the rabbit #long post

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY AND HER PRINCE CHARMING

S5;E12 ~ November 27, 1972

Directed by Coby Ruskin ~ Written by Fred S. Fox and Seaman Jacobs

Synopsis

Lucy is dating a handsome man (Ricardo Montalban) who turns out to be royalty. When Harry finds out that the Prince is in love with Lucy, he'll stop at nothing to get the two married!  

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter)

Guest Cast

Ricardo Montalban (Prince Phillip Gregory Hennepin of Montalbania) was born in Mexico City in 1920.  He appeared in hundreds of TV shows and films but is probably best remembered for the mystical Mr. Roarke on “Fantasy Island” (1977-84).  He won an Emmy Award in 1977 for an episode of “How the West Was Won.”  Although he appeared with Lucille Ball on talk and variety shows, this is his only acting appearance with Lucille Ball. Montalban passed away on 2009.  

The Prince is from the Principality of Montalbania, a fictional country the writers named in honor of their guest star.

Iggie Wolfington (Mr. Winstead, a Minister) first won acclaim in the 1952 Broadway production of Mrs. McThing starring Helen Hayes. In 1958, he created the role of Marcellus Washburn in original production of The Music Man for which he was nominated for a Tony Award. In a 1980 revival he played the role of Mayor Shinn opposite Dick Van Dyke as the Music Man.  In 1984 he was awarded the Screen Actors Guild Life Award.  This is his only appearance with Lucille Ball.    

Sid Gould (Waiter) made more than 45 appearances on “The Lucy Show” and nearly as many on “Here’s Lucy.” Gould (born Sydney Greenfader) was Lucille Ball’s cousin by marriage to Gary Morton. 

Gould wears a beard and mustache and adopts an accent for this waiter character.

Gloria Wood (Dowager Soprano) makes her fourth appearance on the series. She played Doris, a member of Lucy’s Canary Club in “A Home is Not an Office” (S5;E4) and was one of Petula Clark’s back-up singers in “Lucy and Petula Clark” (S5;E8).  

Wood is credited as a ‘Dowager’ although there is no indication that she is a widow living on inheritance (the definition of the title).

Bob Harks (Decorator, uncredited) Extra, stand-in, and double Bob Harks was born on September 20, 1927. Harks appeared in his first film in 1968 and was seen in the background of Mame (1974).  In 1970 he popped up on his first television show and was seen in more than a dozen episodes of “Here's Lucy.”  He died at age 83 in 2010.

Robert Hitchcock (Decorator, uncredited) appeared on many TV series’ including on “Bewitched” and ”That Girl.”  He was seen in “Lucy and Phil Harris” (TLS S6;E20) at the piano bar. This is one of his many episodes of “Here’s Lucy.”

The string quartet at the 'mock' wedding, a young boy ring-bearer, a young flower girl are all played by uncredited background performers.

The “Lucy” character has been seen with every big Latin star of her generation; 

Desi Arnaz, 

Cesar Romero, 

Fenando Lamas, and now Ricardo Montalban. If Lucille Ball and Ricardo Montalban had been a real-life couple, they might have been known as Lucy & Ricardo, two names that sound good together!  

In 1978, Lucie Arnaz again acted opposite Montalban as a guest star on his long-running series “Fantasy Island.” She co-starred with Ronny Cox and frequent “Lucy” character actor Robert Alda.  

In exchange for convincing Lucy to marry the Prince, he will give Harry 50 thousand grivnies (Montalbanian currency), which is equal to a quarter of a million US dollars. Harry says the Prince is worth $200 million US dollars.  

Harry tells Prince Phillip: “I only regret that I have but one sister-in-law to give to your country!” This is a paraphrase of words attributed to patriotic Revolutionary war spy Nathan Hale (1755-1776): “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”  

When Harry dons an ornate crown to give Lucy a clue about the Prince's occupation, Lucy at first guesses that he is a margarine salesman. This is a reference to a popular series of commercials for Imperial Margarine in which a person who ate something with Imperial on it would instantly have a crown appear on their head (accompanied by a short fanfare). The commercials were spoofed on “The Carol Burnett Show” and “Green Acres,” among others.

When the Prince rings the doorbell, Kim, in a quavering soprano voice, warbles “Someday My Prince Will Come” a song from Walt Disney's 1937 animated movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It was written by Larry Morey and Frank Churchill and originally performed by Adriana Caselotti, whom Lucie Arnaz is doubtless attempting to mimic.  

While Lucy is elegantly dining at home with the Prince, Kim says she'll be splitting a veggie burger down at Grubby Bob's Health Food Center.

When Harry enters disguised as a Gypsy violinist, he plays Brahms' “Hungarian Dance No. 5.” Naturally Gale Gordon is miming to a pre-recorded track.  It is odd that he doesn't play the more romantic “Dark Eyes” which is usually associated with strolling violinists in romantic restaurants.

Lucille Ball is out of her cast from her skiing injury and wearing shoes again. The pillows on the floor in front of the restaurant table are there for Lucy to rest her foot on.

Harry (disguised as a female palm reader) tells Lucy she faces the Curse of Ali Baba:

Wild camels will trample your crab grass.

Crocodiles will consume your credit cards.

Locusts will invade your pantyhose.

When Lucy realizes that it is Harry in the harem costume, she dumps a pitcher of water on his head, fulfilling one of “Here's Lucy's” major goals – to get Harry wet!

In this episode, Lucille Ball wears the yellow dress she had made for Lucie Arnaz's 1971 wedding to Phil Vandervort.  

Lucy Ricardo made up an entirely fictional royal family of a fictional country called Franistan in “The Publicity Agent” (ILL S1;E31).  

The Carter Family impersonated the Royal Family of mythical Capazonia in “Lucy's Impossible Mission” (S1;E6). 

Lucy Ricardo had an (off-screen) encounter with another Prince Phillip (Mountbatten) in “Lucy Meets the Queen” (ILL S5;E15).  

After the 'mock' ceremony is abandoned, a soprano (Gloria Wood) enters from upstairs singing “Oh, Promise Me,” an 1887 art song by Reginald de Koven and Clement Scott.  Viv Bagley (Vivian Vance) sang it when Lucy Carmichael's sister got married in “Lucy's Sister Pays a Visit” (TLS S1;E15) in 1963.  

Petal Pushers! A few petals fall off the white roses while Harry and the Prince are doing their mock wedding in the office.  Luckily, the scene fades out shortly afterwards.

Where the Floor Ends!  When Harry enters playing the violin, the camera pulls back to a wide shot revealing where the living room carpet meets the concrete stage floor.  Also, next to the desk, one of the white flowers from the many displays has fallen on the floor.

“Lucy and Her Prince Charming” rates 4 Paper Hearts out of 5

This is an excellent episode showcasing the comic talents of Gale Gordon. While Lucy is basically sedentary due to her healing broken leg, Gordon takes center stage with a variety of comic disguises.  It’s a refreshing welcome back for Gordon, who was absent for the past two episodes.

#Here's Lucy #Lucille Ball #Lucie Arnaz #Gale Gordon #Ricardo Montalban #Prince Charming #Hungarian Dance No. 5 #Oh Promise Me #Wedding #Gloria Wood #Coby Ruskin #Seaman Jacobs #Fred S. Fox #Someday My Prince Will Come #Imperial Margarine #Fantasy Island #Iggie Wolfington #Sid Gould #Gypsy #Ali Baba #Nathan Hale #1972 #CBS #TV #Desi Arnaz #Cesar Romero #Fernanado Lamas

[biofunmy]

Jonathan Van Ness of ‘Queer Eye’ Comes Out

Jonathan Van Ness was having a late breakfast at the Empire Diner, around the corner from his one-bedroom apartment in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan.

Seated in a window booth, he was serving what he calls his “16th-century Jesus” look: Hollywood-starlet tresses, a mustache à la a Super Mario villain and fingernails painted with cartoon depictions from the 1996 film “The First Wives Club.”

But Mr. Van Ness was not feeling his normal gorgeous self, the boisterous “Yass queen” merman that fans of “Queer Eye” adore. He was hung over.

And no, it wasn’t from partying too much. It was a “vulnerability hangover,” to use a term coined by Brené Brown, a TED Talk-famous researcher, to describe feelings of dread after being forthcoming.

“I’ve had nightmares every night for the past three months because I’m scared to be this vulnerable with people,” Mr. Van Ness said.

For much of the summer, Mr. Van Ness, 32, has been mentally preparing himself for the release of his piercing memoir, “Over the Top,” on Sept. 24, in which a different image of Mr. Van Ness unspools with remarkable transparency.

Subtitled a “Raw Journey to Self-Love,” the book doesn’t so much explode as offer psychological insight into the hirsute gay fairy godmother in heels or, as he puts it, “the effervescent, gregarious majestic center-part-blow-dry cotton-candy figure-skating queen” that he portrays on “Queer Eye.”

“It’s hard for me to be as open as I want to be when there are certain things I haven’t shared publicly,” he said. He cracked his knuckles as he fidgeted from nerves. “These are issues that need to be talked about.”

He ordered another cup of coffee, his fifth of the day, and began tearing up as he spoke about a particularly painful memory, one of many that he divulges in his book. When he was much younger, he was abused by an older boy from church, during what was supposed to be a make-believe play session.

“For a lot of people who are survivors of sexual assault at a young age, we have a lot of compounded trauma,” he said.

Suddenly, a 20-something woman with a ponytail appeared at the table. “I’m so sorry, I can’t take a picture right now,” he said, discreetly wiping his eyes.

“Oh, that’s fine. I just want to say that I love the show,” she said.

“Thank you. Namaste. Have a nice day,” he said, clasping his hands in prayer.

Mr. Van Ness exhaled and gently took a sip of coffee. “If you’re having a terrible moment or in the middle of a conversation about something serious, people don’t care,” he said. “They want their bubbly J.V.N. and to get that major selfie.”

Sex, Drugs and Hair

In a sense, the memoir was a way for Mr. Van Ness to tell his story without interruption. There are certainly moments that may make some readers pause.

Mr. Van Ness grew up in Quincy, Ill., a small port city along the Mississippi River, where he was a self-described “little baby queen” unafraid to embrace his femininity. It helped to have a mostly supportive family, including a mother he considers a lifelong best friend.

The Van Ness family owns Quincy Media, a media company that operates 16 televisions stations in Illinois, Wisconsin and elsewhere, as well as two local newspapers. His mother, Mary Winters, is the company’s vice president; his father, Jon Van Ness, worked in sales. (They divorced when he was 5, and his mother remarried four years later.)

At Quincy Senior High School (which he visits in the latest season of “Queer Eye”), he leapt over social norms to become the school’s first male cheerleader. Never mind the beer bottles thrown at him during games.

He wasn’t exactly popular, and students spread rumors about his friendship with a closeted boy from his swim class. Mr. Van Ness felt humiliated. “I was too fat, too femme, too loud and too unlovable,” he said.

His lack of self-esteem ran deep. As therapy would later reveal, the abuse he experienced as a young child planted the seed for other self-destructive behaviors. In his early teens, he spent hours in AOL chat rooms (this was the 1990s) and met up with older men for sex. One man, he recounts in the book, “turned whiter than Ann Coulter’s fan base” after learning he was underage.

He found other ways to fill the void, including binge eating junk food like doughnuts when his stepfather died (he gained 70 pounds in three months).

Eager to leave Quincy, he earned extra credit to skip senior year and attended the University of Arizona in Tucson. But during his first semester, he blew a monthly allowance of $200 from his mother on cocaine, which he started doing on weekends.

Instead of asking his mother for more money (he was too ashamed and reckless at the time), he advertised sex for money on Gay.com, a chat and personals site.

He flunked out of college his first year — he was 19 — and sulked home with his ponytail between his legs.

Unsure what to do with his life, he decided to take the skills honed from styling the hair of his Barbie dolls to the next level and enrolled in an 11-month beautician program at the Aveda Institute in Minneapolis, where his first clients included many Somali refugees.

After getting his certificate, he moved to Scottsdale, Ariz. (to be near his dying grandmother) and then to Los Angeles, where he supported himself as an assistant at a Sally Hershberger salon.

But his addiction to sex and drugs got worse. When he was in his early 20s, a couple he met on Grindr introduced him to smoking methamphetamine. He went to rehab twice and relapsed both times.

One day, when he was 25, he fainted in a salon while highlighting a client’s hair. The next day he went to Planned Parenthood to diagnose his flulike symptoms. He tested positive for H.I.V.

“That day was just as devastating as you would think it would be,” he writes.

His Own Makeover

He cleaned up his act; he still drinks and smokes marijuana but says he hasn’t done hard drugs in years. And, using money from a family trust, he started anew in Los Angeles.

Appropriately enough, his foray into entertainment began at the hair salon. During an appointment with his friend Erin Gibson, a comedian who worked for Funny or Die, the two came up with a parody series called “Gay of Thrones,” in which Mr. Van Ness and a guest comedian offer campy, gay-themed recaps of “Game of Thrones.”

The show premiered in 2013 and became a hit. (It has been nominated for three Creative Arts Emmys for short-form variety series). Soon, Mr. Van Ness was offered roles as a red-carpet commentator and as a host of other web series.

Then, in 2016, his manager called with news that would truly flip his hair: Netflix was holding auditions for a reboot of “Queer Eye.” It took many weeks, but Mr. Van Ness eventually won the producers over.

In the show’s four seasons, the “Queer Eye” cast has gone from fringe gay personalities to mainstream celebrities, with Mr. Van Ness as one of the series’s breakout stars.

In a recent episode set in Kansas City, Mo., he confronts the shame associated with traction alopecia, a form of hair loss that predominantly affects black women. It’s a topic rarely discussed on television, and even rarer by someone who is white.

On Twitter, Tressie McMillan Cottom, an author and professor of sociology at Virginia Commonwealth University, wrote: “Jonathan treating this sister with traction alopecia with love is more care than I can recall a regular black woman getting on TV ever.” (When he was shown that tweet, he burst into tears.)

Mr. Van Ness hopes to bring attention to what he calls “gorgeous beauty moments” like that with his memoir, especially misperceptions about being H.I.V. positive. He is healthy and now describes himself as an out-and-proud “member of the beautiful H.I.V.-positive community.”

“When ‘Queer Eye’ came out, it was really difficult because I was like, ‘Do I want to talk about my status?,” he said. “And then I was like, ‘The Trump administration has done everything they can do to have the stigmatization of the L.G.B.T. community thrive around me.’” He paused before adding, “I do feel the need to talk about this.”

Just as he was about to take a bite of his eggs at the diner, Mr. Van Ness was interrupted once again. This time it was a boyish young man who poked his head in the window to profess his admiration.

After another “namaste,” which appears to be his shorthand for “kindly leave,” Mr. Van Ness resumed his thoughts. “These are all difficult subjects to talk about on a makeover show about hair and makeup,” he said. “That doesn’t mean ‘Queer Eye’ is less valid, but I want people to realize you’re never too broken to be fixed.”

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[bapakharyoso]

“ Queer Eye ” star Jonathan Van Ness wants you to know that he’s more than just a “yas, queen”-espousing ponytail with a mustache who’s ready to make you over.

In a recent New York Times profile written by Alex Hawgood, the Netflix reality TV star who last weekend destroyed the Creative Arts Emmys red carpet , Van Ness touches on the issues he covers in his upcoming memoir, “Over the Top.” Van Ness talks about his punishing upbringing as a much-bullied, closeted young gay man, as well as his addictions to drugs and anonymous chatroom sex, and being diagnosed

...

#'Queer Eye' Star Jonathan Van Ness Reveals He's HIV Positive #Opens Up About Drug Addiction and Sex

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10 Casting Decisions That Hurt Gossip Girl (And 10 That Saved It)

New Post has been published on https://getyourgossip.xyz/10-casting-decisions-that-hurt-gossip-girl-and-10-that-saved-it/

10 Casting Decisions That Hurt Gossip Girl (And 10 That Saved It)

by Katerina Daley

– on May 12, 2018

in Lists

The early 2000s was truly the time to be a television watching teen. Formative high school hits such as Dawson’s Creek, Gilmore Girls, One Tree Hill, and The OC dominated the airwaves.

By the late ’00s, however, a noticeable shift in teenage media consumption occurred — and, as a result of it, teen dramas became less about high school and more about excessive wealth and destructive behavior.

Enter Gossip Girl. Premiering in 2007, the series challenged the way teens had been entertained, offering a view of a wealthier world — but also a more technologically savvy one, too.

The series was a soap opera, to be sure, but it was also a mystery and a thriller all along the way, no matter how mind-boggling and, truthfully, stupid a resolution to the mystery the series would eventually offer.

For six melodramatic seasons, Gossip Girl followed the lives of the residents of New York’s Upper East Side, including the members of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club – Blair Waldorf, Chuck Bass, Nate Archibald, and Serena Van Der Woodsen – as they found themselves plagued by an anonymous gossip blogger known only as Gossip Girl.

Just as the residents of the Upper East Side found themselves addicted to every juicy secret, viewers were hooked on the lives of these characters, too.

However, in the long run, how many of those casting choices really worked in the show’s favor?

Here are the 10 Casting Decisions That Hurt Gossip Girl (And 10 That Saved It).

20 Hurt: Penn Badgley (Dan Humphrey)

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When Gossip Girl began, Dan Humphrey was your stereotypical outsider who longed to be part of the exclusive inner circle of rich kids and experience the wealth and luxury that was their everyday lives.

By the series’ end, not only was he marrying one of the innermost members of that circle, he had spent six years tormenting each and every member of it by assuming the online identity of Gossip Girl.

He began as a character of modest means and earnest intellect and feeling – but, as a result of existing in so warped and wealthy a world, became a monster who never really faced any consequences for his blackmail and gossip. Instead, he was rewarded with the girl of his dreams, because logic.

It’s not exactly an easy task to play someone who transforms from rags to riches.

However, it’s an even more difficult task to portray someone who goes from innocent bystander to manipulative mastermind – especially when it’s clear that the show never really intended that outcome to happen.

Penn Badgley never really had a chance, due to the volatility of the writing and the clear lack of planning put into it.

However, beyond that disadvantage, he was also never particularly convincing as Dan, the series’ ostensible romantic antihero.

He worked better as Dan, down on his luck, than he ever did as Dan, social climber. But since social climbing proved to be the point of his character, it’s safe to say that the series could have done a better casting job on that one.

19 Saved: Robert John Burke (Bart Bass)

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In a series ostensibly about the world of teenage wealth and luxury, it comes as a surprise that some of the most magnetic characters are, in fact, the adults.

Ostensibly removed from that world of teenage foolishness, the parents nevertheless find plenty of ways to get themselves into soapy messes of their own – and perhaps none of them more than the series’ villainous Bart Bass.

A ruthless businessman, Bart’s contentious relationship with his son, Chuck, is one of the series’ central conflicts, resulting in Bart meeting his demise in the final season as a result of a heated argument that puts Chuck under scrutiny due to the compromising nature of their situation at the time.

It would be easy to turn so imposing and singularly evil a character as Bart into a caricature, a glorified mustache-twirling villain with a narrow view of only his dastardly deeds and nothing else.

However, thanks to the gravitas afforded to the role by veteran actor Robert John Burke, Bart’s threatening nature is never one that can be taken lightly.

His presence onscreen looms large, especially opposite his son, and his performance is captivating in each and every dynamic scene.

A veteran of series such as Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and Rescue Me, Burke has more than shown his dramatic power over the years, and it’s not at all wasted in the role of Bart.

18 Hurt: Blake Lively (Serena van der Woodsen)

Serena Van Der Woodsen just may be one of the most spoiled characters in television history. In a world full of privileged and selfish characters, Serena’s behavior is consistently the worst of them all.

She rarely ever thinks of anyone but herself, stealing significant others from so called friends and spreading rumors to enhance her own image.

She’s framed as the girl everyone wants to be or wants to be with, and over the course of the series, she racks up quite the impressive list of exes and enemies.

By series’ end, not only has she not grown in any way whatsoever, but she goes on to marry the man behind the monstrous Gossip Girl moniker, showing that there was never any real depth to the character either.

Blake Lively may be a red-carpet mainstay, and an aspiring lifestyle icon, but in the role of Serena Van Der Woodsen, she couldn’t have been more woefully miscast.

A more capable and talented actress could have found a way to imbue the overall unlikable princes of privilege with moments that garnered potential sympathy.

Instead, Lively spent much of her time as Serena gaping and pouting, over exaggerating emotion for the sake of soap opera theatrics. In recent roles, she has shown herself to be a stronger actress.

However, the years have not been kind to her performance as Serena – or to the character in general.

17 Saved: Kelly Rutherford (Lily van der Woodsen)

As yet another one of the adults who is far more interesting and sympathetic than the teenagers, Lily Van Der Woodsen is everything that Serena Van Der Woodsen could have been.

Over the course of the series, Lily perfectly dances the line between privileged but down to earth. Her romantic relationships are well-written and captivating, particularly with her first love and eventual (ex) husband Rufus Humphrey.

By allowing her to navigate the world of falling in love with someone of a lower socioeconomic class than Serena ever did, the series undercuts its own message of attempting to depict Lily’s daughter in a flattering light.

Lily is effortlessly graceful and unrestrainedly sympathetic, a hard balance to find in the world of so many callous Upper East Siders.

The world of the wealthy and dramatic is one that had long been familiar to actress Kelly Rutherford, who spent much of the 1990s starring on glitzy soap operas including Generations and Melrose Place.

Given her past experience, she brought the necessary poise and grace to the role that a matriarch such as Lily Van Der Woodsen required.

She was able to shift from maternal Lily to self-interested socialite Lily at the drop of a hat, always convincing and able to work well off any costar she was paired with for a plot, no matter how divisive response to the plots themselves may have been.

16 Hurt: Taylor Momsen (Jenny Humphrey)

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Dan Humphrey had a difficult enough time fitting in the world of the Upper East Side from the very beginning.

However, if he thought he had it bad, it was nothing compared to what younger sister Jenny Humphrey went through, including attempted assaults, falls from social grace, and spirals into edgy depression that the show tried to convey with the overuse of black makeup.

The character was once promising – a smart and enterprising outsider shows real potential in fashion and her prestigious school – but over time, the series lost the point it was trying to make with her character.

After she spiraled further, the show soon gave up on trying to do anything with her, and actress Taylor Momsen decided to leave the show.

Momsen leaving the show may have been one of the best things to ever happen to it. While she was a perfectly adorable little kid as Cindy Lou Who in the Jim Carrey movie version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Momsen’s work as an adolescent actor never came across in a particularly believable way.

Jenny was often criticized by fans for being whiny and annoying, always getting in the way of characters they felt deserved more screen time.

Much of that criticism can perhaps be directly tied to Momsen’s poor acting choices above anything else.

Following her departure from the series, she focused more so on music with her band The Pretty Reckless; and since departing Gossip Girl, she has not acted at all.

15 Saved: Katie Cassidy (Juliet Sharp)

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Every good teen soap series needs a whole bunch of characters who are allowed to be truly mischievous villains, and if there was one thing Gossip Girl did well in its twisty run, it was that.

The series had male and female villains alike in spades, most of them embittered socialites who were envious of all that the main group of characters had.

Take, for example, Juliet Sharp – a Columbia student with a vendetta against Serena Van Der Woodsen who will stop at nothing when it comes to bringing her down.

She wins over Serena’s onetime love, Nate, spreads as many rumors about Serena as she can, and generally sabotages her entire public image for some time with incredible ease and accuracy.

While Katie Cassidy may be a divisive actor within the world of the Arrowverse, there is no denying how spot on her portrayal of a scorned wannabe socialite is in the world of the Upper East Side.

Each scene is masterfully acted, whether she is being coy and manipulative as she strings along the likes of the dimwitted Nate Archibald, or whether she is admitting her villainous intentions to the likes of Vanessa, Jenny, or Serena.

Juliet may have struggled to find her place in the scene of Columbia and the New York elite, but Cassidy fit perfectly into a cast that truly could have benefited from her in a larger role.

14 Hurt: Kaylee DeFer (Ivy Dickens)

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In the absence of characters such as Jenny and Juliet, Gossip Girl was forced to quickly scramble and find a replacement amoral character who would be able to stir up trouble and get into ill-advised relationships.

Enter the beyond-annoying Ivy Dickens.

As part of an elaborate and aggravating scheme among the Rhodes-Van Der Woodsen family, Ivy first enters the series posing as Serena’s cousin, Charlotte.

When the truth about her identity is revealed, and the wealth she had deceptively inherited is stripped from her, Ivy assumes the role of a true villain, setting out to ruin the Van Der Woodsen clan in any way she can.

Ivy is an original character within the television series, which puts her at a character development disadvantage from the get go.

However, what makes her character most insufferable of all was the choice to cast Kaylee DeFer in the role.

Prior to starring on Gossip Girl, DeFer appeared in a few small movies and roles in low viewed television series; and following Gossip Girl, DeFer hasn’t done much else, even officially announcing a break from acting in 2013.

Based on the generally tone deaf and emotionless performances she turned in during her time as Ivy, that’s perhaps for the best. We’re not sure anyone could have made Ivy an enjoyable character – but DeFer certainly did the character no favors.

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13 Saved: Margaret Colin (Eleanor Waldorf)

Eleanor Waldorf is a hard character to get a handle on. She is at times alternately maternal and cruel.

Over time, she grows a considerable amount, becoming closer to her daughter in her times of need and eventually developing a healthy relationship with her.

However, in the earlier parts of the series, she is downright destructive to her daughter’s sense of worth and self, encouraging her eating disorder and criticizing her body image at every turn.

Thankfully, the series begins to see the error of its ways over time, especially with Cyrus as a mediator among the strong-willed Waldorf women.

Just as Kelly Rutherford’s performance in Gossip Girl was strengthened by her past in the world of soap operas, Margaret Colin was such a standout due to her own soap past.

In the early 1980s, she starred on As The World Turns for three years, originating the role of yet another strong-willed female character, Margo Hughes.

In her tenure as Eleanor Waldorf-Rose, even in her most unlikable moments, Colin was always convincing, providing the perfect amount of grace and composure and gravitas in every scene she shared, whether with her onscreen daughter or her onscreen love.

12 Hurt: Chace Crawford (Nate Archibald)

Nate Archibald isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed or the brightest bulb in the box, but most of the time, he really does have a good heart.

Sure, he can be pretty selfish, as are all of his friends, but he makes the most earnest efforts over the course of the series to put the needs of others before his own.

While that often gets him into trouble – as he gets manipulated easily by seasonal villains, love interests, and friends alike – it also makes him one of the most forward-moving characters in the series.

He has some of the clearest development out of the teen cast, as he transforms from aimless high school student, to newspaper editor, and all the way to candidate for the mayor of New York City.

Nate’s character may be particularly interesting, and overall, he has a pretty compelling narrative on paper. But unfortunately, the interesting aspects of his character are owed entirely to the writing, and not at all to the portrayal by actor Chace Crawford.

Crawford is better taken in small doses. In comedic moments, he’s stronger, and is often quite boyishly adorable.

However, in serious dramatic moments, he always falls flat, never living up to the strength of his onscreen partners.

Nate is shown time and again to be a perfectly malleable character – but perhaps some of that was unintentional and can instead be attributed to the wishy-washy portrayal by Crawford.

11 Saved: Wallace Shawn (Cyrus Rose)

In a show full of so many cutthroat people who are only looking out for themselves, there has to be a character or two who truly represent all things good in the world, even if they’re hard to find within the series’ setting. For Gossip Girl, one of those characters is the adorably affable Cyrus Rose.

As a lawyer to the stars, Cyrus had every reason to let fame and fortune go to his head. However, he never did, instead remaining one of the most down to earth characters in the entire series.

As Blair’s step-father, Cyrus was constantly a source of support, love, and warmth. And with all the positive warm and fuzzy feelings came a little pinch of comic relief, too.

After all, it would be impossible – if not unforgivable – to have the comic genius of the one and only Wallace Shawn in the role of Cyrus Rose and not make him a truly humorous character.

Shawn’s comedic timing and generally adorable old man demeanor make him the perfect choice for a role that was considerably expanded – and softened – from the Cyrus Rose in the Gossip Girl book series.

Shawn provided a welcome veteran talent source to the cast of mostly rising young stars, strengthening their work whenever he shared a scene with them.

10 Hurt: Connor Paolo (Eric van der Woodsen)

The Van Der Woodsen family is a truly dysfunctional bunch, whether you’re considering refined but emotionally complex matriarch Lily, generally disastrous wild child Serena, or any of the number of father figures that have come in and out of their lives.

Among them all, Eric Van Der Woodsen may have been the strongest, despite being the youngest.

Realizing at a young age that he identified as gay, Eric struggled with others’ criticism of him, even briefly being institutionalized due to his identity.

He consistently has a strong sense of himself and is proud of who he is, but later in the series finds himself getting caught up with the wrong crowd, before being written out as attending school in Europe with Jenny.

In many ways, Eric was a revolutionary character at the time, one of the first gay male characters to feature prominently on a popular teen drama series.

However, no matter how innovative and progressive his character itself may have been, the fact remains that his portrayer – Connor Paolo – was never very skilled in his portrayal of the complex emotions and traumas that Eric faced over the course of his young life.

Eric’s strength was portrayed more through the writers’ intentions than through any of Paolo’s interpretations.

9 Saved: Matthew Settle (Rufus Humphrey)

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Besides the second season introduction of the recurring Cyrus Rose, Rufus Humphrey is possibly the closest thing Gossip Girl ever offered in terms of a strong, kind father figure.

While he made his fair share of mistakes, and especially in the romantic department (do we really need to relive that Ivy experience?), he always had the best of intentions with his children.

Then again, they did both turn out to be problem children in different ways – with Jenny spiraling into self-destructive behaviors and depressive episodes, and Dan being, well, Gossip Girl.

So maybe, despite having their best interests at heart for the most part, Rufus is perhaps also a cautionary tale about parenting in this world.

Part of what makes Rufus such a strong character is the boyish warmth and charm brought to the role by the incredibly likable Matthew Settle. He plays well on screen opposite both his children, no matter Badgley’s and Momsen’s own limited acting talents.

He also shares considerable chemistry with his on again, off again love interest, Lily, as played by the wonderful Kelly Rutherford.

He is the series’ best representation of the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum (as far as the series is concerned to display, at least) and shows the potentials of social mobility and integration, all while maintaining his own self and integrity all throughout.

8 Hurt: Desmond Harrington (Jack Bass)

The Bass family truly caused more problems than they were worth throughout the entire run of the series.

However, if you thought Bart Bass was bad, you really hadn’t seen anything at all until you encountered his younger brother, Jack.

Yet another criminal member of the family tree, he runs the portion of the family business in Australia, but frequently visits New York to cause as much trouble for his brother and nephew as he can.

Perhaps what he is most infamous for, however, is an agreement he arranged with his young nephew – in which he would sign over all rights to The Empire to Chuck, if the teenage Blair agreed to spend the night with him.

It would be pretty hard to make Jack a remotely likable character, given how despicable and disgusting he is.

However, by casting the ever reliably cast as a villain Desmond Harrington in the role, Gossip Girl never once gave audiences the chance to wonder what Jack’s intentions would be.

To be fair, he was quite effective in the role, domineering and threatening just as his brother was.

Harrington took his villainy to an over-exaggerated level, though, leaning too heavily into the soap opera-esque nature of the character, while Robert John Burke’s portrayal of Bart never once did.

7 Saved. Zuzanna Szadkowski (Dorota Kishlovsky)

In Gossip Girl, few characters are genuinely, truly good and kind at heart.

The world of the Upper East Side is so focused on ambition and power and financial gains that it’s hard to find someone who truly puts the needs of others above their own needs, or someone who is willing to stand by your side through thick and thin.

For the Waldorf family, they were lucky enough to have not only Cyrus Rose among them, but also their faithful maid Dorota Kishlovsky.

As Blair’s constant supporter and confidant, she was often the mother that Blair lacked, whenever she and her mother were on the outs.

She also proved to be quite the mischievous and reliable ally when the time came for fun schemes to be enacted.

It would have been easy for this series to turn one of its primary maid staff workers into the butt of a joke, or to keep her as a stereotyped, cartoonish character.

However, through the casting of the Polish-American actress Zuzanna Szadkowski, Gossip Girl was lucky enough to avoid falling into those tired tropes.

Szadkowski made Dorota into one of the series’ most iconic characters, full of heart and humor and warmth, and every bit as vital a member of the cast as any of its regular characters.

6 Hurt: Michelle Trachtenberg (Georgina Sparks)

As we’ve already mentioned, Gossip Girl knows how to make a good villain. If anything, the series’ success depends on the need for the core characters to have villains they’re trying to defeat.

Maybe it’s a bit of a laughable concept for a show about spoiled elite teenagers in New York, but nevertheless, villains are lurking at every turn.

One of the show’s earliest of them is Georgina Sparks, a dangerous party girl who arrives in the Upper East Side intent upon causing trouble and danger wherever she goes.

At various points throughout the series, she is alternately fixated on each core member of the group, though her fixation on and twisted joy in tormenting Serena are perhaps the signatures of her character.

Michelle Trachtenberg has a long history of playing polarizing characters who are, more often than not, passionately hated by their series’ respective fan bases.

After spending years as Buffy’s annoying younger sister Dawn on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Trachtenberg once again got the chance to annoy teen television viewers everywhere as Georgina Sparks – a role so laughably over dramatized in its conception, but one that Trachtenberg still managed to overact in each and every scene.

If there was a female equivalent of mustache twirling cartoonish villains, whatever Trachtenberg decided to do with Georgina Sparks would be it.

5 Saved: Kristen Bell (as Gossip Girl)

The role of Gossip Girl herself – or, as the series finale reveals, himself – is perhaps the most crucial role in the entire series.

As the voice behind the longtime anonymous blogger intent upon wreaking havoc within the Upper East Side, Gossip Girl’s witty commentary keeps both the viewers and the characters within the universe on their toes at all times.

Gossip Girl is uncensored, attacking any and all citizens of the Upper East Side with equal opportunity, and revealing all the dirty little secrets that the public both wants to know about and wishes they never even had a clue about.

Of course, it’s eventually revealed that Dan Humphrey has been Gossip Girl all along, which makes the voice only embodiment of the gossip blogger more than a little confusing when you realize the voice belongs to none other than Kristen Bell.

However, logical leaps aside, the series absolutely hit the jackpot with the casting of Bell.

Having previously spent years offering wry and insightful narration of her own light noir series Veronica Mars, Bell is a pro at the dramatics of narration, making even the most bizarre of situations fascinating as long as she’s the one reading the update.

When Gossip Girl allowed Bell the opportunity to finally appear onscreen in the series finale, that was just the icing on the cake.

4 Hurt: Jessica Szohr (Vanessa Abrams)

In a universe filled with annoying characters who are painfully not self-aware, you’d be hard pressed to find a more obnoxious, ultimately useless characters than the perpetual waste of screen time Vanessa Abrams.

Vanessa offers more of a look at the world of the socioeconomically average, which is something the show struggled with all along.

But while the show tries to portray the insanely wealthy in a positive light, Vanessa is almost constantly viewed negatively, existing as an obstacle or distraction in countless plots that are bogged down and slowed down due to her presence.

Her wit and honesty make her a unique presence within the series, but beyond that, her main function seems to have been to aggravate characters and viewers alike.

Adding to the unbearable nature of Vanessa’s character is the way in which she was so terribly miscast.

Jessica Szohr brings absolutely nothing to the table in an already weak cast of young actors and actresses.

Her delivery of lines alternates between gratingly over-acted and aimless, as though she is barely trying at all.

She never comes across as having any chemistry with the many characters Vanessa is forced into having relationships with. However, thankfully, she exited the series after season four, allowing for a reprieve in the final two seasons much as Jenny’s departure did.

3 Saved: Sebastian Stan (Carter Baizen)

Initially introduced as a grungy gambling college student with a secretive past, Carter is then revealed to have become a humanitarian.

When he’s framed as having stalked Serena, it turns out that he spent the summer with her and supported her through a rough time in her life.

When it’s revealed that he once took advantage of a fellow socialite and her family for the sake of paying off gambling debts, he does everything in his power to make amends and repay them.

Yet since he is so briefly recurring a character, he never gets a full arc or the attention in the narrative that so richly layered a character deserves.

Perhaps part of what makes Carter Baizen such a successful character is the fact that Gossip Girl was ahead of its time in realizing the star power of a young Sebastian Stan.

Riveting and mysterious in each and every scene, Stan’s Carter always has a slight edge to him.

While the show may delight in the illusion of him being an untrustworthy character, only to reveal his many good sides in the end, it’s through Stan’s masterful juggling of emotions that this entire feat is accomplished.

2 Hurt: Ed Westwick (Chuck Bass)

It’s hard to watch Gossip Girl and not walk away without any sort of passionate feelings regarding Chuck Bass.

Some viewers walk away feeling devoted and protective, considering themselves proud Chuck girls who think he’s tortured and misunderstood. Other viewers walk away seething with rage and wondering how a predatory, selfish, cruel man could be portrayed as a suitable romantic hero.

Regardless of what your feelings about him are, it’s clear that Gossip Girl succeeded in creating a character that stands out among the rest of male leads in the genre of 2000s teen television – for better or for worse.

At the time of the series, Chuck’s popularity could be largely attributed to the strength of actor Ed Westwick’s performance.

Skilled at emotional manipulation and genuine emotional displays in equal measure, it was easy to fall sway to Chuck’s charms all while being aware of how despicable he was.

However, recent revelations have now cast Westwick’s performance in an entirely different, harder to stomach light. Within the last year, as a result of the #MeToo movement, multiple women who were once part of the industry have come forward to accuse Westwick of assault.

Any potential enjoyment once derived from Westwick’s performance is therefore fundamentally ruined.

1 Saved: Leighton Meester (Blair Waldorf)

What would Gossip Girl be without its Queen B? We don’t even want to think about it.

Fundamentally fascinating and wonderfully flawed, Blair Waldorf is the true center of the Gossip Girl universe.

As brave as she is brilliant, she overcomes so much in her time on the series, including repeated betrayals from her so-called best friends, betrayals from the so-called love of her life, betrayals from her family… We’re starting to notice a theme here.

However, at the end of the day, Blair is the strongest and the very best of them all.

Inspiring in her independence and commitment to pursuing her dreams of becoming part of the fashion industry, Blair is one of the only characters to emerge from the series as a true icon worth revisiting.

However, as strong as Blair may be on paper, she would have been nothing without the flawless, near effortless portrayal by Leighton Meester.

Arguably the most talented of the young cast of actors whose careers were launched by the series, Meester has long gone overlooked and underappreciated for her work in the series.

In recent years, she has had roles in smaller sitcoms and movies, but that does nothing to dim the brightness of her stardom. She alone made Gossip Girl worth tuning in for. The thought of anyone else filling Blair’s always stylish shoes is the definition of unthinkable.

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Where do you think Gossip Girl went right or wrong with their casting choices? Let us know in the comments!

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Chapter 2, Young, Poor, and Jewish In my initial year at UWM  I took two semesters of Biblical Hebrew language under Dr. Bernard Grossfield. Some of that era of the tongue translated to contemporary conversational Hebrew which I was able to use in my daily dialogue with an elderly Palestinian coworker. I went on in the Religious Studies program to study with Rabbi Dana Evan Kaplan who I became friends with. At the time he was writing a book called, American Reform Judaism: An Introduction ( Rutgers University Press) which was to become highly esteemed in academic circles. I never wanted to move from Milwaukee but I knew it was time to travel. I narrowed my destinations down to India and Israel. Israel won out. I met Dana for lunch at Shaharazad restaurant to talk about it. He thought it was a great idea and cool that I had no plans and just a few loose contacts in The Holy Land.  At the time I had very little money. Dana told me exactly what to do. "Go to the old city. People are going to ask you if you are Jewish. Just tell them your mother is Jewish. You know more about Judaism than most Jews." "But I have tattoos. I don't even look Jewish." "I didn't say you were a good Jew" I knew he was right. I needed to turn this head knowledge into experiential knowledge. Without doing so there would be no insight into first hand experience as a Jew. This was education and investigative journalism at once. The more I gave whole heartedly of myself as a Jew, the more I knew about being a Jew, and the more of a Jew I became. Believe your own bullshit. Dana told me some very specific things that came to manifest in Israel. For example, I would meet a guy at The Wall named Jeff Seidel who would ask if I would like a place to stay and I could stay with a religious family and study with them. This came to pass and so did some other interesting things. My first stop was in Tel Aviv where I'd to stay with a punk rocker I met in a punk chat room. Our connection was a n anarchist punk band whose 1994 record I had by some Jewish Israeli's called Nekhei Na'atza AKA Renounce Judaism. Like  a lot of American punk bands, I thought they were fast and thought provoking but if they believed in what they politically espoused they were painting with some broad strokes. To a large degree it was just another shock tactic, one that got them recognition in Israel and on talk shows where religious Jews tried to "deprogram" them. Believe it or not, pre-911 Israel didn't have a lot else going on as far as a hardcore scene.When I arrived the guys at the squat treated me like I was some sort of ambassador. They really rolled out the cat haired red carpet for me. These guys were so crusty one dude's deadlock fell off. I got up from the chair at the kitchen table after my NesCafe and my butt had a mustache. Their record collections were really small and they were stoked to get some presents I had for them  them from the States like the new Shelter, a Sensefield/Jimmy Eat World split 7", EVEL (from Milwaukee), and the Destroy LA 7" from Pressure. They liked the Pressure 7" right away and were pretty open to the other music as well. After taking a walk one of the guys took me aside and told me seriously that that the world would be a better place if the US were blown off the face of the Earth. He wanted me to meet with this guy who he said was the king of the punks in Tel Aviv. I wasn't interested.   There was a lot of partying going on that night in the streets because The Maccabees professional basketball team ( part of the European league) just won a big championship title. I slept for a few hours then sneaked out with all my stuff. I slept on a jungle gym and wound up getting this rash called "wrestlers back" from that or the squat: a bunch of gross boils all over my back. I was low on money from the start so I decided to walk to Jerusalem and hitch hike if need be as I heard it was safe to do so. I calculated in my mind that it was only 40 miles which was way off. But the major roads were lined with grapefruit trees and orange groves. I didn't want to steal so I was eating warm, sun drenched oranges and grapefruit that fell off the trees. I hitched a  ride in a van after the first 15 miles and got into an argument in Hebrew with the driver. It seems hitch hiking in Israel is safe because you are expected to pay. I told him I wasn't going to pay him one shekel since we were going to the same place. He was pissed but didn't kick me out. The kids in the back seat were cool. An orthodox family, one of the young boys asked if I liked Tu Pac. No matter where I seemed to go on this journey Palestinian and Israeli kids seemed to share a love and excitement for Tu Pac. When I got dropped off I found a grocer and bought a bottle of water. I started walking toward sights I'd seen in books: the mosque with the gold dome (which holds the slab of rock Abraham was going to sacrifice Isaac on), The Wall. A conservative guy with a yarmulke, white shirt, and black pants was coming home from work to his apartment and asked me in a New York accent if I was lost. I told him I wanted to get to The Wall before sundown as it was Friday. He invited me up to their apartment where I got to meet his young wife and baby son who I got to hold and play with. He prayed over me and gave me a yarmulke which was not real effective because I had a shaved head. It turned out he knew my friend Raphael's relatives in New York and our mothers were both from Sheboygan. He showed me a a haunting photo of his mom's dad visiting his home town in Latvia that was totally reduced to rubble by the Nazi's. I'm not sure why the guy felt compelled to return. My mother's family is Lithuanian, from that same region of the Europe I knew next to nothing about at the time. The couple sent me on my way with a bag of groceries, mostly native oranges and Israeli chocolates. I was so happy to have food. When I got to the wall it was as predicted I met Jeff Siedel. I wanted to go pray but he wanted to talk to me about the Chicago Blackhawks who were not doing so well at the time. There were so many cute girls there. I looked kind of awful, like a sun burnt skinhead. But the girls were all really sweet and nice to me. Most of them wore long conservative dresses. A few of them kept asking me about my tattoos. There was a group of men praying with some old scrolls. This guy with a beard who was about my dad's age asked if I was married. I told him no. "Well maybe you just haven't met the right girl." "Yeah, well that's the whole trick isn't it." These people were OG. Seidel wrote a name and address on a piece of paper for me of an elderly man and woman who I would have dinner with and stay with. I got to the apartment which reminded me of a clean early 20th century apartment in NYC except cobble stone streets below, less sirens, and more sounds of people praying and singing. The meal itself took hours. I turned down the boiled chicken that was sitting out for three hours. But the wine was delicious. I was really poor at reading from the prayer books in Hebrew but they were patient with me, like loving grandparents. I asked the  man why in earlier times miracles occurred like parting of the red sea. People, as he explained were more in touch with nature, with God then. Even the most depraved person had a sense of reverence for that which could not be explained. Today we credit meteorology as a logical science, more believable than God even while fifty percent of people complain about the weather man getting shit wrong half the time. Perfect Deity, developing science. When it came time to bid farewell the next day I wanted to give the matriarch a hug but there seemed to be some rule against it. But I got a strong sense of love from them and some solid handshakes. They even gave me money. I hit the streets and saw the sights. The hottest chicks around were the Israeli Army girls. All these girls were my age and wore grunge styled army fatigues and held Uzis that were attached to a strap that went around there necks. I guess I have a little Ted Nugent in me. I don't know why but if you put a gun on an already hot girl she becomes totally hot. It's a weird phenomenon. I'm weird. I figured I may as well do something positive with my time. I saw a sign that said "Emergency Clinic" in English then something in Arabic outside the City's Jewish quarter. I had just gotten a CPR and first Aid certification from the American Red Cross before I came over. Maybe they could use some help with all the fighting. I didn't see any bloodshed but there was a really high tension in the air as Jews  interacted cordially yet cautiously with Palestinians and vice versa. I can imagine it was a similar "in the air tonight"  feeling prevalent during the American years of segregation down south. I saw some Arab kids playing with guns, hiding around the corner and shooting at one another. I wondered how long before they would be carrying guns for real. The thought bummed me out. I got to the clinic and it appeared to be run by Muslims because I didn't see anybody there except some shoes on what looked like a Moroccan rug. Out of nowhere two guy ran out of the clinic in white robes pointing Uzis at me. The head guy from the clinic (I was later lead to assume) walked up to me with a Chinese AK and pointed it at my forehead. Realizing I didn't speak their native tongue the head honcho asked what the fuck I was doing there. I told him I was just seeing if they needed any help. It was confusing to him. He grabbed my wrist and asked me what the Hebrew tattoo meant on it. I told him it was one of the Hebrew words for meditation from the Bible. Ironically I got it done in NYC by Tee Schwartz , a skinhead from Milwaukee. Honcho told his buddies to go back in the clinic and started talking to me about meditation. He said his brother was into meditation. He told me to be more careful  because he was about to shoot me. It was all good. To be honest, I did not feel scared for one second. I was on Holy ground. One of my last stops that day was at the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed by Judas Iscariot. I saw Reggie White from the Green Bay Packers there which was awesome and I got my picture taken with him. Nobody else knew who he was. A few Israeli soldiers thought I was getting my picture taken with him because he was a black giant. They told me there was an even bigger black guy there a few days earlier. What the hell is wrong with these people? It's Reggie White! Seeing him made me homesick. I was already missing Milwaukee, my apartment, and my 13" TV set. I was leaving Jerusalem with more money I had arrived with on account of the nice people I met. I got a shuttle to Tel Aviv and flew to Amsterdam, then home.

#judaism #milwuakee